


Ultimatum

by trilliath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Brief threats of rape by outsiders, Full Moon Rituals, Full wolf form sex, M/M, Mating, Outsider Pack, Pack Dynamics, Pack laws, Situational influence on consent, Threats, Werewolf Mating Rituals, Werewolf Sex, Xeno, Xenophilia, i guess that's the tag people dig around here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:34:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trilliath/pseuds/trilliath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It turns out that Stiles, knowing about the wolves but not actually being related to them or part of some other group like the hunters or Deaton and his advisors, etc. is actually seriously breaking the rules.<br/>Not that it's usually a problem. Until he runs aground of a strange pack that doesn't like the way the Hales have been playing fast-and-loose with Were law.<br/>They issue an Ultimatum, one that will change Stiles's life forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Show You What All The Howl Is For](https://archiveofourown.org/works/543021) by [Jinxii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinxii/pseuds/Jinxii). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For extended warnings about this fic, please go to [ this tumblr post](http://trilliath.tumblr.com/private/67590372027/tumblr_mwkyx5fALC1rc20hi)

He's just outside of town, stopping at a gas station when it happens.

He should be used to it, really, getting slammed up against things by werewolves. And they _are_ werewolves. He doesn't have to see them flash eyes or fangs or claws to know it anymore. Even he, with his little human nose, can smell the wolf on them. On these strange wolves. He hadn't realized it would be so apparent. Maybe it is simply the contrast to the wolves he knows. But there's no mistaking that they're outsiders. _Others_.

"Fuck off," he blurts. He's not sure why - well, of course, being shoved up against the glass door of the drinks refrigerator is enough to piss someone off. But it's their _otherness_ that has him going 'hackles raised' right out of the gate.

"Oooh I like this one," a man purrs.

"Do you think he knows?" someone else asks. To Stiles's dismay, there are at least five of them visible. Possibly more. Not that he could have held out against even one, but...

The woman who is holding Stiles back against the wall tilts her head, sucking in a scenting breath over Stiles's person. Her skin is a rich earthy tone and her eyes are dark, almost black except for where he can see the faintest hints of red reflecting in their depths. She smells of dirt and carrion and leather.

"No. The smell isn't strong enough."

"You know, maybe your little werewolf senses aren't what they ought to be, because I distinctly remember saying _Fuck. Off_ ," he repeats, shoving at her hands. They don't budge, of course. She's about the same size as Stiles, but her strength is plenty augmented enough to hold him without so much as a wobble.

The woman's eyebrows raise. "Spirited. Well. I guess he does know after all."

"Oh jeez, Mara, let's just take this one. Look at that mouth," the first guy says, leaning closer to stroke a hand over Stiles's jaw. The others crowd even closer, eyes going hot and predatory.

"God I bet he's tight. Do you think he's a virgin?" another man asks, leaning closer to smell him too. "He smells like a virgin."

"It has been a while since we've really had some fun," Mara muses.

"Dibs on his ass," the second guy calls, curling fingers into Stiles's hip.

"Oh, dibs on his _mouth_ ," the first guy says.

Stiles squirms away from their hands but he really doesn't have anywhere to go with the firmness of the grip on his shoulders. He squashes down the panic twisting in his belly, lest he add to the feral instincts pressing them towards him like prey.

"Yeah well thanks for the creepy gang-rape invite, but I'm going to have to decline. You see, I'm pretty sure my Alpha wouldn't like that," Stiles snapped. "And he's fucking scary when he's pissed. Eyebrows of doom and everything."

"Your Alpha?" she murmurs, tilting her head. 

And the emphasis was on _your_ , not _Alpha_. Okay. So, maybe that was a bit of a stretch. Stiles wasn't actually part of the pack. But…

"Interesting," she says, stepping back slightly.

"Not _so_ interesting," Stiles mutters, wondering if he's just made a horrible mistake.

She runs a slow hand down from his throat, over his chest, and then stopping at his groin where she gives a little squeeze. "You shouldn't wander so far from your pack. Never know who you might run across."

They walk out, leaving him slumped against the glass wall. The clerk at the counter is staring at him, open-mouthed, telephone in his hand like he'd been poised to dial 9-1-1 or something. Stiles appreciates the sentiment.

He waits until their SUVs and trucks pull out of the parking lot, then he pushes himself upright. He shakes himself a little, then fumbles his way out of the shop, neglecting to get the energy drink he'd been after in the first place. Adrenaline would more than do the trick, and the crash after would only be worse with sugar in his system. He already feels nauseous enough as it is. 

From the safety of his Jeep he texts Scott, then Derek. When his hands stop shaking enough for him to do it, that is. 

_**Heads up. Strange pack near HWY 215 gas station. Creepy. IDK anything else.** _

 

He should have known it wouldn't end there.

By the time he finishes all the errands he'd been out to do and gets home, when he walks into his bedroom there are not one but _two_ Hales waiting for him.

Derek looks angry. Peter's hardly able to contain his amusement.

"Oh my god it exists, it really exists. The Hale school for how to creep people out. You both went, don't lie to me. Valedictorians even."

That has Peter flashing a grin at him, which. Ugh. No, still creepy that the undead uncle understands his sense of humor better than the alpha.

"So…?" Stiles says, tossing his backpack down beside his desk and walking over to his bed to plop down on the corner.

Peter takes it as an invitation and sits on the nearby stool. After a moment of them looking up at him, Derek blinks and turns to take the desk chair, pulling it over to sit in front of Stiles.

"So on a scale of bad to 'ohgod, ohgod, we're all gonna die', how bad is it?" he asks. Because, let's be honest. Those were really the only options when two Hales showed up to have a heart-to-heart with a teenage boy in his bedroom. Unless it was a start to a really strange porno, which… okay, yeah, still probably fell somewhere on that scale, despite the boner-inducing properties. 

"Well, we're not _all_ going to die," Peter offers.

Stiles just groans and falls back on his bed. "Just kill me now," he mutters.

"That would make things simpler," Peter replies, which has Stiles bolting upright again and looking at them. Derek is glaring at Peter, who puts his hands up in a placating motion.

"What?" Stiles demands.

"Really, I don't know how you manage to get into these scrapes," Peter muses, tilting his head like he's really considering the strange force that is Stiles's penchant for trouble.

"Mara came to see us. She's invoking the right of _containment_ ," Derek grinds out, looking more fierce than he's ever seen him, which… okay, yeah, it's terrifying.

"What?" Stiles demands again, though it sounds a little more squeaky this time.

Peter, the dick, looks more amused than anything. Derek is too busy glaring at the ground and grinding his teeth to speak, so the elder Hale explains.

"You know, but you're not one of us. Knowledge is a dangerous force, far more powerful than any pack, any alpha. If knowledge of our existence were to get out, it could mean the end for all wolf-kind. So any pack can invoke the right to contain you."

"Contain…,"

"You have three options. One, we hand you over to them and their Alpha does what they will - probably turns you. Two, someone - doesn't matter who, kills you. Or, and this is my personal favorite, the Alpha takes you as a mate in a spectacular fashion."

Stiles doesn't think his brain has ever gone this quiet before. Because he literally can't think. Or breathe, or move or-

"Breathe, Stiles," Derek's voice grinds out, low and soft.

And he does. Mind exploding into panicked thoughts again. "You're shitting me," he says, looking between them. But Derek's still staring at the ground looking furious. 

"You really can't even make this shit up," Peter mutters to himself with a smirk.

"Ohmygod ohmygod, why is this," he gasps a breath, putting his face down in his hands angling down towards his knees as he tries to steady himself. "Why can't anything just go smooth? Why did I have to mouth off? Ohgod."

Peter snorts.

"It's not funny," Derek grits out.

Peter looks like he wants to say 'It's a little funny' but he doesn't.

"Which Alpha?" Stiles manages, because yeah, the first two options are even worse. "As their mate. Which Alpha do you…," he trails off

Peter's smirk grows and Derek's eyes dart up to latch onto his face.

"Ours," Peter says smugly.

Stiles really doesn't know what his face does then as he stares back at Derek. But whatever it is, it has Derek's eyes widening and nostrils flaring before he jerks his head away again and stands. He goes to the window, looks out over the edge of the roof to the yard below.

"Ok, forgive me if this is stupid, but. Can't we just, I don't know, tell them to fuck off? I mean, not that it actually worked earlier but…,"

"No wonder," Peter mutters to himself, rolling his eyes skyward.

"It's… a pack law. It's one that any pack will enforce if someone calls for it. It doesn't matter if we take them out, others will finish the job," Derek says quietly. "They won't stop."

"Shit," Stiles mutters, pressing a palm to his belly and trying not to feel nauseous. 

Peter's looking at him with a curious light in his eyes. "What did work?"

"Huh?" Stiles asks, running back over the conversation in his mind, trying to follow Peter's more devious thought processes.

"I was just wondering what you did that made them back down and then decide to issue the challenge." 

He grimaces, but Derek's looking back at him as well, with a faint light of curiosity peeking out from his scowl.

Stiles fiddles with the hem of his shirt. "I, uh, I kind-of told them my Alpha would fuck them up,"

He tries not to look when he says it, but he can't resist. When he glances up, Derek looks stricken. Peter's face is a complex mask of indecipherable.

He sighs. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to piss them off. Or to insult you by implying I was part of your pack. I just, it was the only thing that came to mind, that might… You know what? They stink!" he says, throwing his hands up in frustration. He pauses for a moment, then sneers and adds, "Literally. They reeked of nasty dirty wolf."

Peter makes a face and nods in firm agreement with him.

"They probably don't even bother to shower after they gang-rape innocent bystanders," Stiles says before he can stop himself. Oh yeah. He hadn't been planning on mentioning that.

This time it's Derek's turn to blurt, "What?"

Even Peter's face goes stony.

Stiles tries to keep the humiliation off his face and the fear squashed down in his chest as he glares down at his hands in his lap. "I mean, nobody's ever threatened to rape me before so maybe I misunderstood, but, uh, yeah no. There wasn't much of an alternative explanation when they started calling dibs on orifices."

There's motion in his peripheral vision and when he looks up, Derek is kneeling in front of him, looking up at him with anger and concern warring for dominance on his face.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly.

Stiles opens his mouth to protest, but then closes it with a shrug. He couldn't lie about the sick feeling that had been plaguing him the entire rest of the day. He wasn't _not_ okay. Nothing had really happened. But he wasn't really _ok_ either.

Peter stands and claps his hands together briskly. "Now we're going to need to do some research, try and see if anything in the Hale archives will point to a loophole. It's probably a good idea, however, for you to stay with us. Just in case."

Stiles looks at Derek for confirmation and receives a short nod.

"Okay. Yeah. Uh, research. Let's do that. I'm good at that," he says, standing again and reaching for his backpack. Peter turns and leads the way out of the room, moving like he's completely at home in his house. Such a creeper.

He shoves his laptop in his bag and dumps his school books. Grabs an extra shirt or two because, given how things usually went around the pack… yeah. Just as he's fishing his phone out of his pocket to text his Dad, a hand lands on his shoulder. He turns his head to find Derek standing close to him. He doesn't let go, and the grip is strong and… comforting. 

"I won't let that happen," he says quietly, and Stiles knows which _that_ he means. The one that twists his stomach into knots. "Whatever else… I won't let that happen."

Stiles swallows back a knot in his throat and nods. Then Derek's following his uncle and Stiles is punching a text into his phone with shaking fingers. 

So. At least death by gang-rape is off the table. That's… something.


	2. Chapter 2

"So, you're finally going to mount the boy, then," Peter says with a smirk as he settles into the seat. 

"Nothing's been decided," Derek replies on reflex, but it just earns him a withering and sardonic look that reminds him just how much worse the alternatives are in this case. It _has_ been decided. He just hates that there's no real choice.

"Regardless, it should have been, months ago. I told you this would be a problem," Peter says. Never missing an opportunity for an I-told-you-so seems to be Peter's goal in life. When Derek turns a baleful eye on him, Peter is giving him a look of sympathy that doesn’t feel sympathetic at all.

He glances in the rearview mirror at the boy in the jeep behind them. He doesn't respond. He really doesn't know what to say. There are too many conflicting thoughts running around in his head.

"I think it's a good thing. It's high time you did something about that loose end," Peter says with a shrug.

Derek glares at him. "He's seventeen."

"Which you know full-well is irrelevant to pack law. Besides. It will be all the easier for him to adjust to it, being young," Peter counters, running idle fingers over the car's leather. "It'll be good for the pack and you know it. And, best of all, you get what you need _and_ he can't blame anyone but these outsiders for it."

Derek glares at him as they turn off the main road into Hale territory. Manipulative bastard would never understand why that made it _worse_ , not better.

And then there's the other thing. "I don't need-," but Peter is already interrupting him.

"Please. Don't pretend with me that you don't want the boy. Lie to him, if you want - though I'll never understand why you don't just tell him. You can even lie to the pack. They'll never challenge it. After all, they don't understand what it means to be a born wolf. To feel the pull, so strong, you know nothing else will ever come close to satisfying you," he says, old memories adding a bitterness to the words.

Derek just purses his lips.

"But I know better. So don't lie to me," Peter orders, an edge of anger showing through his voice for once.

Derek sends his beta an obligatory quelling look but that's as far as he takes it. The man is right after all. Before he had even known it was happening, Stiles had made his impression on Derek, left his mark. Over time he had become something beyond an outsider. Pack but not pack - a status which left only one other designation; potential mate. 

Between his instincts, and his own growing appreciation for the boy, the attachment had solidified before he'd even known it was happening. It wasn't something permanent. It would be something he could fight, and eventually break away from. He'd planned to do that, to hold it off while Stiles went away to college and the bonds weakened. To let him have a life. A choice.

And if he came back… 

Well. That would have been a different story.

"The timing could be better," Peter concedes. "And I admit it would have been entertaining to watch you dance around the issue for however long it took."

Peter had laughed and _laughed_ when he'd realized. He'd laughed until he'd rolled on the ground, tears streaming down his face. Then he'd proceeded to snicker unsubtly any time Stiles's name was mentioned until Derek had shouted him into submission. Derek is still annoyed about the whole thing. He growls faintly under his breath at Peter's smirk until it fades.

Peter shrugs his shoulders in annoyance as he crosses his arms, giving up momentarily on harassing his nephew. He kicks his feet idly against the foot-well and grouses, "It's just our luck that it was that bitch Mara."

Derek looks at him in surprise. He'd thought it odd that Mara had recognized Peter when she'd come earlier that day to make her challenge. 

Peter sighs. "Oh, you were too young the last time she rolled through town. She's a trouble-maker. Always has been. And vindictive. It started out simple enough, traditional talk of an alliance forming, a mate was being arranged between one of her betas and ours. You remember aunt Cindy?"

Derek frowns and nods slowly. He has vague memories of a young, rebellious woman. 

"Well it didn't go well. Mara started showing her true colors, so Cindy backed out of the arrangement. Mara could have acted like a decent wolf and just called it off, no hard feelings. Or even hard feelings. Doesn't matter. But she had to take it to the letter of the law, just because she could and she was pissed. Ended up formally challenging her. Killed her in it," Peter says, face a solid mask as he hides his emotions. His rage and sorrow are strong enough though that Derek can smell them without even trying. Derek grinds his teeth in shared anger. 

"I'll bet you anything that's why she's decided to cause trouble. Just because she can."

As he gazes back through the rearview mirror again, Derek can feel his hackles raising. She would ruin a boy's life just for her amusement. Her petty vengeance on a pack that hardly exists anymore. His chest aches at the thought of the destruction and suffering about to be brought into Stiles's life. At the destruction and suffering Derek would be bringing to his life.

He focuses on driving them to the house, but there's a little voice in the back of his mind that insists on pointing out that his chest also aches with the knowledge that Stiles will finally be his.

 

Stiles is already talking when he hops out of the jeep.  
"...because why… god I really can't believe I'm about to say this. Why can't you just turn me?"

The twinge in his chest at the thought of Stiles choosing to be part of his pack has Peter sending him a smug and knowing look. Derek sighs, folding his arms and scowling. "I wish. But it's not an option."

"Why not?" Stiles demands, deflating, like he'd thought it might have been a solution they hadn't thought of. 

"Because it's not," Derek snaps, annoyed to see that flicker of hope dying too. And then annoyed at himself for being annoyed, letting it leak over onto Stiles who is pouting at him now. Derek shakes his head and turns, heading for the house. "It might be easier to just show you the laws."

Peter grunts in disagreement and falls in beside him. "That'll take too long." 

Stiles scuffles after them as they march up through the yard. It's still light and green with the spring air, little wildflowers waving their petals at the sun. The sounds of the cars ticking over are loud in the quiet of the forest, though the birds and small animals there are a faint symphony of nature. It seems a mocking contrast till one remembers that the songs they don't hear, the plants that didn't thrive are there too. 

"Even if you were turned, they would have to kill you," Peter explains as they walk. "A disobedient pack could easily take the person in with a forced bite, and proclaim the issue solved without much cost to the errant pack."

Derek grunts in agreement.

"But doesn't that solve the containment problem?" Stiles asks.

Peter continues after trotting up the steps and opening the front door for them. "The rituals are about punishment, not just containment, because it's supposed to be a deterrent. It should never go on this long," Peter says with a pointed look at Derek.

Derek just stops and scowls at the bannister as Peter closes the front door behind them. He rolls his eyes at his nephew, then turns and heads to the back of the house where his recently-restored bedroom awaits. 

Eventually Derek turns, folds his arms across his chest, unable to look up beyond the teenager's logo tee-shirt. He takes a tight breath, then says, "I'm sorry." 

The words feel sickeningly inadequate. He closes his eyes and continues, "He's right. I should have warned you. I didn't think it…," he grimaces at himself. There are no excuses. "I should have told you."

"Hey, it's…," Stiles says, then he reaches out and touches Derek's crossed arms softly. Derek looks up reluctantly as Stiles just kind-of shrugs, far more nonchalantly than he feels, given the look on his face. He gazes at him a long moment, not sure what his own face is doing. Everything is too much of a mess.

Peter returns, laptop in hand. Stiles gestures aimlessly and says, "Well we're here now. So, I would really appreciate some. You know. Information. Like all of it."

They follow Peter into the living room, and he sets the computer down on the coffee table, opening it as he continues to explain. "The first two options I mentioned are most commonly chosen, despite the attachment the offending pack usually has to the individual who is the containment threat."

"Shit, really?" Stiles says, looking appalled. 

Stiles drops onto the couch next to him so he can see the screen. Peter opens the family's archives, digging through his files to the _Olde Pack Treatise_. Derek hesitates a moment, then takes the seat next to Stiles. 

"It's true that taking that person or killing them is a clear punishment because usually packs don't keep unbound humans around unless they're… fond of them." He avoids Stiles's eyes on that one. 

"But…," Stiles flicks a glance at Derek, then clears his throat awkwardly as he looks away. "You said there was a third option."

Derek nods silently. 

"Why doesn't it get chosen? What… I mean. If they're _fond_ of the human. Wouldn't it be…," he gives up, flushing.

Peter sighs and clicks his way to the law in question, then angles the computer over to Stiles. "Taking a human as the Alpha's mate? It is a _legitimate_ option. But it is extremely rare that a pack takes it, and often foolish when they do. The law is based on the assumption that the reason someone would _know_ about the pack but not be part of it is that they are inferior in some way. Unwanted."

And it's the truth, most of the time. Not here though. Stiles obviously knows that, Derek decides as he folds his arms again and sits back in the couch, taking miniscule comfort in the light scent of pack that washes over him as he does so.

"Or, as in your case, they simply refuse the bite and the alpha is too soft to force the issue," Peter says, sliding his eyes over to Derek, who simply ignores him this time. He's too busy watching Stiles anyway. 

"Oh please, Derek does not want me in the pack," Stiles scoffs. He clamps his lips shut belatedly and flushes, pointedly not looking at either of them as though he could do without the expected confirmation now that it's past that point.

Peter turns a telling look on Derek over the boy's head as he leans on his elbows, poking around on the screen. Derek opens his mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. He just scowls and clamps his jaw shut again. Peter rolls his eyes and puts a hand to his forehead.

After a while Stiles grimaces at the screen. "Jeez, nobody likes this option, do they?"

Peter agrees, saying, "Few claimant packs want to be forced into the accompanying non-aggression agreement, which that option requires on their part since they are likely the cause of weakening a pack. A weak alpha could destroy a pack. At the very least, damage the pack for a long time. That's why many consider the third option the worst."

Peter smirks to himself. "It's going to be absolutely delicious to see the look on that bitch's face when we tell her it's been chosen."

Stiles just looks like he feels sick to his stomach. Derek doesn't know whether it's due to the thought of being his mate, or the ultimatum as a whole. It makes his fingers curl into a tense fist against his thigh. But Stiles is nothing if not brave. Even now he swallows and leans forward, clicking to the next page, eyes skimming quickly over the information. The longer he reads, the darker his face becomes.

"Everyone agrees this is bad for the pack," Stiles says eventually, looking grim. "Everyone." 

Peter nods absently, but Derek realizes something is off in the way Stiles is holding himself.

Stiles drags his fingers through his hair, breathes out a slow breath, then says, "Okay. So. It's simple then. You let them take me."

A moment of stunned silence greets the pronouncement. Then Derek and Peter both begin to protest sharply.

"No," Derek snaps. "The answer is no. Are you insane?"

Stiles makes a face at him. "Probably. But yeah, no. I'm not going to be responsible for destroying your pack, okay?"

"Stiles, you wouldn't be a weak Alpha," Peter says, cutting through Derek's more authoritarian protests. 

"We'll be fine. I won't have you making that choice. It's not an option," Derek grits out.

Peter puts a hand on Stiles's shoulder, drawing his attention as he says, "Whatever nonsense you think about Derek not wanting you in his pack, I guarantee you it's not because you would weaken the pack. Why do you think I offered the bite to you last year?"

"You _what_?" Derek spits, whirling on his uncle. 

But Peter ignores him, leaning closer to Stiles to make his point count like it matters. Derek hates that he doesn't understand his uncle's motivations. He hates that it could have been Peter's mouth on Stiles's body. Hates that Peter is touching him even now. He growls. 

"You wouldn't weaken the pack," he insists even as Derek is jerking forward out of his seat, hand coming up, claws out to clamp onto his shoulder, shoving him forcibly back from Stiles, who flails awkwardly at the mass of angry Alpha pushing past him. Not that Peter is resisting now that he's said his piece. He tips his head back in submission as Derek pins him to the couch with a low, angry growl. 

Stiles groans in annoyance, interrupting him by grabbing his arm, "Derek, that's old histo-,"

"Why didn't _you_ tell me?" the Alpha growls, rounding on Stiles now. He knows he's being irrational. Stiles hadn't been anything more than an acquaintance back then.

"He asked, I said no, then there was lots of fighting and killing and shit and-"

Derek, to his embarrassment, growls at him.

"Ohmygod would you cut it out? We have more important shit to deal with right now!" Stiles shouts back at him, shoving his shoulder.

"No. It's simple. You're going to become my mate. You're _not_ going to them," Derek proclaims, shoving back from the couch and striding a few paces away into the living-room to get his anger under control.

"Derek, we-,"

"They'll kill you. They'll kill you or make you one of their pack. And with Mara… I don't even know which is worse. But either way, your entire life as you know it will be over. All of it."

Stiles scowls at him, jaw thrust out belligerently to hide his fear. 

"Stiles, I hate to say this, but he's right. Think of what that would mean to your friends and family. To your father," Peter says, doing the one thing Derek knew he wouldn't have been able to say.

Not with the way Stiles's face pales as he sits back.

They're interrupted by the sound of a faint buzzing. Derek frowns and shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone, looking at the display.

"It's Deaton," he says. Stiles looks confused. Derek knows the feeling. He casts a glance over at his uncle.

Peter rolls his eyes as Derek answers the phone. "Formalities," he says with a vague wave of his hand, like that explains anything.

"Put it on speaker," Stiles demands, and Derek makes a face as he pokes at the phone till Deaton's voice is coming out loud enough for even those without enhanced senses to hear.

"You're on speaker, Deaton," Derek says. "With Stiles and Peter."

"Thank you, Derek," the man replies. His voice is calm, but he sounds tense compared to his usual smooth tones. "I'm calling to confirm with you the official complaint has been filed against your pack for a first warning on the grounds of the right of containment."

"First warning? Does that mean we have some time to figure something out?" Stiles asks.

Derek shakes his head even as Deaton speaks, "The second warning is the extermination of a pack."

Stiles gapes at him, mouth hanging open before he sags back against the couch, eyes wide. He shakes his head slowly, curling his legs up against his chest.

"Derek Hale, do you understand the scope and grounds of this challenge?" Deaton asks formally.

"I do," Derek replies, and Stiles lets out a raw, broken little laugh before he claps a hand over his mouth. He just shakes his head when Derek raises his eyebrows at him in question.

"Then my duty is complete," Deaton says and hangs up.

"But-," Stiles begins to protest.

"Formalities," Peter explains again, sounding bored. "He can't talk any more right now. If you have questions you'll have to talk to him another time. But there's really no point."

That is true. Deaton probably doesn't know much more about it than the formalities his role requires. The ways werewolves enact these particular rituals are closely guarded secrets. Derek shoves the phone back in his pocket and paces away to the bookshelves where his steadily-growing collection of folklore lies. 

"So it's… official?" Stiles asks, mostly rhetorically.

Derek grunts in affirmation as he runs his fingers over the book spines. After a moment's hesitation, he carefully selects one old book on Eurasian supernatural lore. He doesn't particularly _want_ Stiles to read it. In fact, he's been avoiding letting the inquisitive teen get his hands on it. The boy's ignorance is a shield Derek has relied upon these past months. He had never expected an outside pack would discover him, would actually invoke their rights. Nobody did that anymore, not about some teenage boy in a small town anyway. He has to concentrate to control the wave of fury that has his claws threatening to cut into the book in his hands.

It's out of his control now. Much as me might want to, he can't deny Stiles what he seems to want most right now; information. This book, for all its threads of truth it paints a rather unflattering picture of his kind. But it has vital information about pack dynamics, and then again, Stiles has already seen some of the worst. And he's sharp. Once he regains his control, Derek carries the book over and hands it to him. 

Stiles looks up at the outstretched book in surprise. He takes it cautiously and Derek scowls down at the thick blue cover.

"You'll need this," he says, fighting embarrassment.

Stiles eyes him warily, but he opens the book.

"It's not all true," Derek says. He tries, but fails to keep the defensive tones out of his voice.

"Right. Uh. Folklore," Stiles offers with a wiggle of his fingers. 

Derek nods in affirmation and Stiles turns his attention to the pages. He skims the table of contents, then skips straight to the section on werewolves. He glances up at Derek hesitantly, cheeks flushing, then skips further into the chapter to the section on mating.

He feels oddly nervous, he realizes, watching Stiles uncover the details of what he's about to be forced into. Derek also feels anticipation, and a faint hint of arousal at the thought of claiming him. Of marking him forever as his mate. And fear, that Stiles will be afraid. That he will reject the wolf side of him.

He can hear the way Stiles's heart-rate starts to pick up as he reads. Hears him swallow. 

Derek just turns away to stare at the wall, jaw working as he tries to martial his own emotions about the whole thing. It's hard enough figuring out what he's feeling, let alone dealing with Stiles's reactions. To distract himself, he turns and starts sorting through the books in the makeshift library again, looking for anything that might help Stiles understand. It doesn't take long, though, till Stiles's fingers start tapping nervously and he draws a breath to speak.

"Uh. So like. How long do we have?" Stiles asks, voice cracking over the sentence.

Derek glares down at the book in his hand and takes a slow breath. Another moment he'd been avoiding. 

Peter lets out a long-suffering sigh and answers, "Till the next full moon."

Stiles slams the book shut in front of him.

"That's tomorrow," Stiles points out unnecessarily, arm waving wildly for emphasis with the sharply-spoken words.

"That's right," Peter says, unable to suppress the slow smile born of the entertainment factor the abrupt reveal has brought him.

"There aren't going to be any loopholes, are there?" Stiles asks quietly, staring through the wall at some distant place only he can see. 

Derek just hunches his shoulders as Peter sighs, smarmy look fading as he replies, "I don't think so. Doesn't mean I won't keep looking." He sounds genuine for once, and that's probably even more terrifying than comforting. 

"Thanks," Stiles offers lamely, a lopsided smile trying and failing to turn his mouth up. He opens his mouth to says something else, but then gives up on it and turns back to reading.

They sit there in silence for a long time, Peter skimming through the laws on his computer. Derek brooding. Stiles's fingers play over the book's pages, but his gaze is fitful, and he keeps going back to re-read passages. Derek watches him, so he notices the way Stiles's gaze slips over to touch on parts of him. On his hands, his knee. Never up to his face, never looking directly at him. But aware of him. As Derek is aware of Stiles. 

"Peter. Leave," Derek orders abruptly.

Peter turns a raised eyebrow on him, but he rises to his feet with a languid stretch. He stops at one of the low bookshelves which contains some of the salvaged Hale library, stacking a few under one arm, then tucks his hands in his pockets and strides away towards his room, shutting the door behind him.

Stiles sits back, giving up any pretense of being able to focus on the book. But his shoulders seem to relax slightly with Peter out of sight. Derek certainly feels less tension. The wait in silence for a long while. Stiles chews on his lip, eyes darting back and forth as he thinks. Fingers teasing fitfully at the buttons on his watch. Derek also runs over information, all the possible explanations in his mind. And more personal things to say, to soothe and to comfort. It's a jumble, too much of a disaster. 

It doesn't help that there are also more primal feelings edging into his consciousness. The rapid shifts and accelerations of Stiles's heart-rate is hard to listen to. They make even more apparent the urge to run, the flicker of excitement that his mate - his _mate_ … the desire to howl at the coming moon and rejoice. The need to howl in grief for the ruination that knowing Derek has brought down on this boy's world. 

But, as always, Stiles gets his thoughts together enough to form words before him. 

"Derek," he begins quietly, still staring down at the closed book on the table. 

The tangled thoughts start to still in his mind as Derek focuses on the teen and waits, gazing at him intently. Stiles adjusts his watch back to where it belongs and shrugs, crossing his arms on his knees. His lips part on a word that doesn't come, then he clears his throat and forges onward. 

"Wolves. They, mate for life. Don't they?" he asks, turning a hesitant gaze on him.

Derek nods.

"And werewolves, they…,"

Derek nods again.

"And this being the Alpha's mate, it's. Like. Actually…," he falters, cheeks flushing though he doesn't look away from Derek. 

Derek frowns gently, then quietly supplies the remainder of the sentence, "Like getting married."

Stiles sighs heavily. He curls in on himself, looking horribly vulnerable all of the sudden. It has Derek aching to go to him, to… do something, perhaps wrap his arms around him and… offer him comfort. But he thinks that would be a mistake. He doesn't know how to be comforting and Stiles probably isn't ready for that sudden of a change between them.

After a moment he looks back to Stiles's face and realizes that Stiles is crying. It's silent, just salty tears slipping from the corners of his eyes and sliding down his face to drip off his nose and chin and onto his knees and folded arms.

"Stiles," Derek says gently, stepping over to him. He kneels at his feet, unable to stop himself from putting his hands on top of Stiles's ankles. Stiles just burrows his face further in his arms for a moment, then he sniffs and angrily shoves his tears from his cheeks. 

"Are you even...?" he chokes off the sentence with a wet laugh. "I don't even know if you're gay or not," Stiles says, throwing his hands up angrily. "I don't even know yet if _I'm_ gay."

"It doesn't matter," Derek says.

Stiles scoffs, rubbing his palms over his eyes again. "Oh yeah it does. Yeah it matters a lot. Because wolves are monogamous and sex is a very important part of any marriage," Stiles spouts off, then stops, mouth hanging open a moment before his lips twist into a strange grimace. He stares down at Derek, amber eyes bright with tears and reflections of the dim lights. Derek gazes back at him solemnly and doesn't contradict him. He can't, because he isn't wrong. 

Stiles hiccups a shaky breath, then places his face back in his hands and groans. "Oh god this can't be happening."

But it is. Derek closes his eyes and gives in to impulse, tilting his forehead down against Stiles's shins. 

It is.


	3. Chapter 3

Married.

"I need to pee," Stiles blurts, scrambling off the couch. It's more or less a lie but what he does desperately need is some privacy. Even nosy werewolves more or less respected the sanctity of the baño. He's dizzy with all the changes and he needs a second just to catch his breath.

He leaves Derek kneeling on the ground behind him without a second look, just striding across the hardwood floors towards the first-floor bathroom. When he gets the door closed behind him he sinks down against the panel, taking rough, raw breaths. 

But he doesn't calm down. His mind just races, speeding up faster and faster. As does his pulse. He doesn't start to hyperventilate, which is a relief. He can't deal with a panic attack right now. 

He's just plain panicking. It's different. He knows the difference. The latter he can manage just fine. 

Sort-of. 

Whatever. He works on it anyway. On concentrating on the mundane things. Like how much he likes the new sink. And the fact that there's a little bar of soap on a dis- 

Married. _Marrie-_

And the cliché of the sage green walls. And the-,

"Stiles?" Derek calls to him through the door, voice lifting with concern. "Are you… you sound-,"

"Stop listening to my heart-beat!" Stiles demands foolishly. "It's not fair," he blurts, voice cracking on what threatens to turn into a sob. He presses the heels of his hands to his temples and just breathes.

Kohler. Good sinks. 

He doesn't hear Derek move away, but the Alpha doesn't say anything else either. So Stiles focuses on getting his emotions to at least a manageable level.

Suddenly the house, the Hales and all their werewolfliness, is sharp and pungent and overwhelming. He shoves the door open. Derek's sitting on the stairs, watching him.

"I'm going to talk to Deaton. Alone," he adds when Derek makes as if to stand up. For once the man seems to listen to him, and he stops moving, staying seated where he is and looking at Stiles with something like reproach, mixed with a healthy dose of concern. And even that's wrong. Usually Derek wouldn’t bother to look at him at all if he said something like that. Beyond an eye-roll anyway.

It's unsettling to say the least.

"I'll be back later," he states, then jerks the front door open and leaves. The spring afternoon air is crisp and fresh. The familiar sight of his jeep is calming as he crosses the yard to it and throws himself into his little mobile scrap of home territory.

It takes him three tries to start the jeep, and he makes himself sit there for several minutes till he can say he's calm enough to safely drive. No point in ruining someone else's day or wrapping himself around a tree and making the whole thing moot. It just takes a bit. He's pretty good at shoving his panic aside long enough to get the job done, after all. 

The drive to the vet clinic is strange. Seeing people just going about their days, like nothing is happening. It's surreal. And it doesn't take long for him to start to wonder if any of it's been real, this entire insane day. But the way Deaton is already unlocking the door for him, face grim as he arrives, is enough to slam the gravity of it all back home.

"Stiles," he says in greeting.

"What's up, Doc.?" he says back, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably. Even Bugs was letting him down now.

"You probably shouldn't be here," Deaton cautions him as he closes the door behind him and turns the lock to closed again.

"I didn't know where else to go."

Deaton nods, unsurprised as he turns and leads the way past the front desk and into the clinic proper. One of the exam tables is littered with trays of small bottles. There's a cleaning cloth and some water sitting out, and Deaton goes back to whatever he'd been doing before Stiles had interrupted him. He sets a clean bottle in a rack and lifts the tray, carrying it back to one of the cabinets against the wall. 

Stiles watches, hands knotted in the wrists of his sweatshirt. He sets the tray on its shelf with neat, sharp little motions.

He's _mad_ Stiles realizes. He hasn't done anything but continue organizing his work-space, but there's a stiffness to his usually graceful motions, a tension around his mouth.

"You're upset," Stiles says.

"It's not right," Deaton says, shutting the cabinet so precisely that from anyone else it would be a slam.

"You're telling me," Stiles mutters. That Deaton is acknowledging the fucked-up-ness of the situation is simultaneously panic-inducing and comforting.

"I'd help you if I could, Stiles. I would. But you're not a born hunter and none of them will apprentice you. Not even Chris," he says, looking apologetic. 

Stiles shakes his head in acceptance and surprise. Because holy fuck had he _asked_ the guy? On Stiles's behalf? Jeez.

"And my order is prohibited from interfering. There's no one else I can think of who could be reached, let alone _convinced_ to apprentice you by tomorrow," he says, shaking his head as he swipes the cloth over one of the jars on the table.

"If traveling packs won't have the common decency to… There should be _provisions_ , for developing packs, or… _Something_ ," he says, voice finally showing hints of frustration as he jams another bottle back in its slot. 

"Hey," Stiles says, fingers drumming a nervous tattoo on the counter beside him. "It's… look. Thanks for trying. That… Thanks," he says with a shrug. 

"You seem… They have _told_ you, right?" Deaton looks at him sharply, setting aside the bottle he'd been cleaning. 

Stiles eyes him warily. He's fairly certain there are about a million things they haven't told him. Like he could probably fill up an entire library and name it 'shit the Hales haven't told me'.

Deaton levels a firm look on him. "About what's going to happen tomorrow? That you're going to die, or be conscripted into this _Mara's_ pack?" Deaton explains, voice dipping towards disgust over her name.

Yeah. He knew that part. "But I'm not," Stiles says quietly. 

"Stiles," he says gently, so awfully, painfully gently. "If you run, I'll be forced to call for the pack to be destroyed." 

Like all _'by the power of the moon, I will punish you!'_? Though he doubted Deaton would don the mini-skirt and heels. He probably had much subtler ways of doing his job. Which… yeah, he hadn't known _that_.  
Wiping out the whole pack? Holy batman this sucked. Stiles sighs. "Don't worry, you're not going to have to go all Sailor Moon on my ass," Stiles says, earning himself a pained look. But the thought of running had never crossed his mind. He wonders what that says about his sanity levels. 

"There aren't any loopholes. I've been checking, but…," Deaton frowns as he sighs softly, shaking his head a little. 

"I, yeah that's what Peter said too… I'm, ah…, the third option? You know. Derek's going to…," he clears his throat, trying not to flush. "I'm going to be his. Uh. Mate." 

And it's the first time he's even admitted it to himself. He still can't even begin to make sense of his emotions at the words.

Deaton's face pauses in surprise. Then he's closing his eyes as he brings his fingertips together against his mouth. He sighs heavily through his nose, shoulders falling slightly.

"Well then," he murmurs. He smiles sadly at Stiles.

"Am I… Is that the wrong choice?" Stiles asks, surging forward to lean on his hands against the metal examination table.

Deaton lifts his hands in a soft shrug. "I can't tell you the answer to that."

"See, I told him it was the wrong choice! I mean, he's risking the pack, risking everything just to save me," Stiles blurts, shoving back from the counter and crossing his arms defensively across his chest. "I mean, how can I do that to him? Just to save my dad the pain of losing me? How can I live with that?"

"He's also gaining a mate, Stiles," Deaton says, laying a calming hand on his shoulders. "A loyal, brave, and talented young man."

"Is he? Is that _worth_ something?" Stiles asks him. His throat is tight. He wants to beg him for the truth. He needs it, desperately. Something real. Something he can be certain of. So long as he believes it's the right thing to do, he can handle anything. 

"More than you could ever know," Deaton says softly.

Stiles drops his hands, letting them hang limply by his side. He closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath. It has the ring of truth, and it's like the last piece of the lock sliding into place.

Okay. Yipee-ki-yay then.

Deaton squeezes his shoulders, then pulls him closer for a moment, offering comfort with a brief hug. Stiles returns it but then steps back with a sniff. It's a rarity, that Deaton would offer even such a brief amount of physical contact, and though sparse, the hug is powerful.

"Thanks," he says, turning to go.

"I wish I could offer more," Deaton replies, shaking his head as he leads the way out of the clinic.

The sun is still up as he drives back to the Hales'. It seems strange, given that his entire life has been turned upside down in the span of just a few hours. Derek is waiting for him when he gets back. Sitting on the porch steps, just watching him pull up.

It's insane. A few years ago he hadn't even known the guy existed. Well, ok he'd known _of_ him, vaguely, since people-watching had been basically a lifelong obsession for him. But, yeah, he hadn't known him. And then in the past year or so things had changed from sometimes adversaries, to allies, to… well he'd even grown to think of Derek as a friend. Hecate knew there'd been enough mutual ass-saving and the like over the past year and a half.

But now?

He looks at him this time, but as a - a _mate_ … whatever that means. He studies his features from what feels like a more personal perspective. It's similar, but somehow different from his customary detached appreciation of Derek's form on aesthetic grounds and his recognition of him as a familiar whole. 

It's like he's… going to merge the two? Or create a new perspective altogether?

He pauses just a foot away from Derek, who looks up at him with faintly guarded but mostly vulnerable-looking eyes. And that's another novelty. He tilts his head as he gazes at him, frowning in concentration as he studies his face, feeling like it's the first time he's ever seen him.

"You came back," Derek says, then frowns like he hadn't meant to say that.

Stiles knows the feeling. "Said I would."

Derek nods slowly at that, fingers scratching idly at his forearm resting on his knee. "What did you find out?"

Stiles screws up his face as considers their whole conversation and then sighs. "Nothing. Nothing of practical value anyway. Deaton can't find any loopholes either."

Derek looks down at his hands with a frown. "I'm sorry."

Stiles sighs and turns to sit heavily on the stair next to him. "Yeah, me too. Are you…," he begins, then sighs, pressing his fingertips to his head. "Nevermind," he mutters.

Derek looks at him for a long moment, then gives up, going back to rubbing his thumb against his forearm.

"Do you think…," Derek begins, but trails off. His lips close as he looks vaguely in the direction of Stiles's shoulder

"What?" Stiles asks him. He realizes he's stretching a tentative hand towards him, pausing still inches away from contact before he curls his fingers limply against his palm instead.

Derek glances at his hand, then swallows. "Nothing," Derek says quietly and turns away.

There is a brief moment of silence, then Stiles barks out a rough laugh. "Ohmygod we are going to have to get so much better about this," Stiles blurts, shoving his hand against Derek's biceps.

Derek makes a bemused wince of agreement at him and sits up a little, squaring up his shoulders like he's about to take on a horrific monster. Which is totally legitimate because the awkward-silence monster is a huge and insidious beast.

"Okay. We're going to be mates," Stiles says. "Like 'till death do us part'."

Derek nods.

"And you're sure?" Stiles asks.

Derek looks at him, surprised.

"Because… look, as much as I want to live and-,"

"I'm sure," Derek interrupts firmly. His features are quiet and determined, lips pressed in a slight frown.

Stiles blinks at him a moment, then nods and says, "Okay."

There's a long pause where they sit, staring out at the woods beyond the house. Stiles fiddles with the edge of the step beneath him. It, like everything else, has been rebuilt, sanded and painted, so there's no more bits of old paint or rotten wood for him to peel off. Nothing for him to fiddle with. So he settles for tapping out a faint rhythm as he watches the birds flit through the trees and the faint wind rustle leaves and feathers.

He hears Derek take a short breath, preparing to speak, so he glances at him.

"Are you sure?" Derek asks, eyebrows raised in question.

Stiles pauses for a moment, thinking about his response seriously. But despite all the intense and warring thoughts that have been ravaging him all day, surprisingly, amazingly, it all boils down quite easily to one response. 

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure."

Derek nods slowly, and after a moment's hesitation, Stiles reaches out to touch the warm skin of his forearm, brushing his fingers over the hair there till he can slip his palm up against Derek's. He goes for the full-on hand-hold, lacing his fingers in-between Derek's and pressing their palms together. Derek glances briefly at him, then squeezes his hand tight in response.

They stay that way for a long time. Shoulders end up pressed together after a while, then thighs. At one point Derek's free hand comes to rest on Stiles's knee, and then Stiles slips his own free hand over that. Eventually Stiles leans his head against Derek's. The strands of hair that brush against his skin are softer than he'd expected.

Some time later Derek turns his head slightly so that his lips brush ever so slightly against Stiles's temple. And then Stiles twists his head up a little so he can see Derek's face. Stubble brushes against his cheek as he does, a new and vivid sensation for him. His heart is pounding, deep and heavy. The hot rush of Derek's breath on his skin tingles. God this is crazy, he's never even _thought_ about kissing Derek before, and here he is just millimeters away and-

Derek's head lifts abruptly as his eyes sharpen on the woods beyond the house. It's his 'listening' face. One Stiles has long since become familiar with. But then Derek grimaces and relaxes, letting go of Stiles's hand and rising. Not enemy pack then. 

"It's Peter," he informs him, just as his uncle appears around the bend, moving at an easy, long-legged lope. He's actually bothered to try and blend in to society this time, wearing running shoes and pants along with a light jacket. Stiles stands too as Peter nears, slowing to a walk to make a more dramatic entrance. 

It really was a thing with them, wasn't it? Stiles rolls his eyes, but he can't help but watch Peter and his smirk because he has a small box under his arm which he carries like it's something important. 

"I've brought you a wedding present," he calls, like the joke wasn't already old before it had ever been made. Peter just smirks. Stiles grimaces and walks away into the house. Nope. Nope nope nope.

Peter laughs and carries it after him to the living room. He stacks up a bunch of the other books that are sitting there and pushes them to the floor before laying out his box on the coffee table. Stiles blinks a moment against the change in light levels as his eyes adjust. But he drifts closer. Stiles can't resist the pull of curiosity, and really, why should he? Peter was a smarmy ass, but…

Stiles sits on the couch again, and Derek drifts after him, hovering near the arm of the sofa with his arms wrapped around his chest. Peter opens the box, then folds back the papers wrapped around the object inside of it. It's another book. Leather-bound, and old. The cover is intricately worked with folk-knots and a depiction of two wolves.

Derek's intake of breath is sharp enough to have Stiles looking over at him. The Alpha's face is a mask of disbelief. Then abruptly he's moving closer till he kneels next to the table, hands settling against the surface next to the box like he wants to reach for it but can't.

"How?" he whispers, looking up at his uncle with wide eyes. He swallows and goes back to studying the book, fingers curling into fists on either side of it.

Stiles doesn't know what this book is, but whatever it is, it's clearly important. Werewolf important. And since everything precious to their family had been lost to fire those years ago… 

Peter allows himself a self-satisfied smirk but it doesn't fully cover the sadness. "Safety deposit box. It's mine, an heirloom passed down to me specifically," he explains, gazing at it sadly. "That's why it wasn't…,"

Destroyed in the fire.

He lifts the book out of the box, running reverent fingers over the leather once before turning and handing it to Derek, who receives it with similar care and appreciation.

"Peter. Thank you," Derek says quietly.

"It's just a loan," Peter cautions, and Derek nods like he'd expected that. "But, I'll be having one commissioned for you when time isn't so short," he says offering Stiles a small smile. Like the 'you' is encompassing them both. Which… holygod that's the way things will _be_. They'll be a _pair_.

Stiles tries to return the smile, because it had been genuine, but he's still too wide-eyed in anticipation of understanding whatever the object is to do much more than twitch his lips. He tries to bite his tongue and not spoil whatever moment Derek is having but, like always, that totally fails within seconds, "Seriously the suspense is killing me. What _is_ it?"

"Werewolf mating rituals," Derek says softly. He opens the book carefully, and inside Stiles can see are beautifully scripted letters. He can't make them out since they're calligraphy and upside-down, but they're beautiful.

"Though the core of the rituals are similar world-wide, different packs have different variations. Each pack will have a book such as this, detailing their rites. But few copies are kept, because they are partly secret. Often only a few of the senior pack members will have them, passing them on to younger wolves if the time comes when they are preparing to find a mate."

Stiles realizes with a sinking feeling that he'd been making a really, terribly flawed assumption up until that moment. He sits back, swallowing. Derek's eyes sharpen on him, probably hearing his heart-rate skip up erratically. Bastard.

"Um. So, something tells me. It's not as simple as, just, like… 'Hey Mara, look, we're mates!', is it?"

Derek's eyes widen in dismay and Peter bites his lips against a laugh. It slips out anyway in horrible mocking fashion as he presses his hands to his face, shaking his head. "Really, Derek? You haven't told him?"

"Told me _what_?" Stiles demands.

Derek grimaces. "I didn't think. I… never expected to take a _human_ as my… I just didn't realize he wouldn't already _know_. Shit, I'm really screwing this up," he mutters, pressing his hands to his face.

"Yeah you are," Peter says, earning a glare from Derek and Stiles both.

But Stiles has other goals than just being annoyed at Peter so he just puts up his hands in an effort to diffuse the tension, then reaches for the book, which Derek beats him to, taking it again and frowning at him. Peter snickers. 

"Ugh, fine. But, explain now, please. Like really, really tell me what's going to happen. That would be good," Stiles says, huffing with heavy annoyance as he sits back against the sofa.

"Tomorrow night, when the moon is at apogee, we will begin a variation of the Alpha mate-claiming ritual," Derek says to start with, taking a slow, steadying breath at the end of the sentence.

Stiles nods to signal that he's following, and Derek clears his throat awkwardly, looking back down at the book. He turns a page and continues, "The traditional ritual involves a hunt that ends in the act of mating,"

The act of-

Oh.

That meant he, and Derek would…

Oh.

Derek continues like he can't hear the panicked spike of Stiles's heart-rate, though his voice is tight when he says, "The hunt begins when the mate runs out into the wild, doing their best to get as much distance between them. A little later, the Alpha and the pack set off-"

"Whoa, wait, the _pack_?" Stiles blurts.

Peter rolls his eyes at him. "Really?" 

Derek shrugs uncomfortably. "They're part of everything. When it comes to the Alpha, they're part of everything."

Well wasn't that just shiny? Stiles sighs and sits back. "Sorry. Stupid human here," he says. He clears his throat. "So uh… the Alpha and the pack…,"

"They begin the hunt, trailing the mate, seeking them out in the woods till they catch them. The harder they run the better. The best mating rituals happen when they wear each other down enough to completely overcome the bloodlust of the hunt. It makes it easier to initiate the bonding."

"I don't know, I've always enjoyed a ritual with a nice pre-coital throw-down," Peter muses. "Working off the extra blood lust with a little fight before the fuck," he says, lingering on the 'F' sounds with a little smirking revelry. "Those are the most fun to watch."

Derek glares at him.

Really? Two werewolves duke it out before… and hold on an ever-loving second, he'd said _watch_? Stiles swallows. That means.  
Yeah. Right. _Pack_. He bites back a hysterical laugh that threatens to spill from his mouth. Well, Erica would finally get a look at his junk like she'd been teasing him over this past year and wouldn't be able to complain about it anymore. Silver linings, bitches, silver linings.

But there was something else Derek had said too. He clears his throat. "But you said that's not what's going to happen."

Derek closes his eyes briefly, but not before Stiles catches a flicker of… loss? Passing over his features. And Stiles realizes that maybe Derek's life-long dreams are being shattered just as much as his are. No werewolf equivalent of a fairytale wedding for this Alpha, nuh-uh.

"No. For the right of containment, the mate goes to the Alpha, who waits for them instead of running," Derek explains.

"A final slap in the face," Peter says bitterly.

"A final choice for the mate," Derek counters.

Peter raises an eyebrow at him, then tilts his head, considering. Stiles reaches for the book again but Derek pulls it back out of his reach and turns the page.

"The ritual goes like this. On the full moon, the two opposing parties take positions in the wilderness. Spread apart. They each send emissaries, to guard the mate and ensure a fair starting point."

"When the moon hits its peak, the Alpha will signal the start with a howl. To begin the bonding, the mate runs to his or her Alpha. The hunt happens in reverse, but when they meet the mating proceeds traditionally."

Okay. So yeah. Stiles was just going to ignore that last part for a second. "What did you mean by choice?" he asks.

Peter makes a face. "I suppose it is a choice of sorts. If the mate chooses to run _away_ , all wolves are obligated to honor their decision and execute them. Or if they run towards the challenging pack, that pack may choose to kill them on their way, or let them reach their own Alpha, granting them the bite."

"Oh," Stiles says. Okay. So. Not really a choice then. 

But they still haven't explained exactly how the whole mating and claiming things are going to happen. He eyes the book suspiciously. He's sure the details are in there. "So. About the hunt," he begins. "Just exactly-," he says, reaching towards it again nonchalantly. Derek pulls it away as he has each time before, snapping it shut.

"Oh my god why won't you let me see the book?" Stiles demands, slapping his palms down on the table in anger.

Derek stares at him, open-mouthed, then looks down at the book held in his hands. Peter's looking at Derek with admonishment as well, so Stiles stretches out his palms, requesting the book nonverbally.

Derek hands it to him and sits back from the table, practically pouting as he folds his arms. Stiles makes a face at him as he settles the book in his lap. He runs his fingers over the carved leather too, admires the fine leatherworking of the wolves on the cover. He offers a grateful smile to Peter before he opens it.

It doesn't take Stiles long to figure out why he might have been reluctant. With each rite and description there are pictures, beautiful, explicit pictures. Hand-painted images of wolves and pack. Of Weres and wolves together, or Weres and their human sides preparing. Sometimes, in subsections, there are full humans running with them. 

They detail all the stages, ones the Hales hadn't gotten around to mentioning yet. There are ritual cleansings, shared meals. And the results, the actual acts of mating. Depictions of swollen sexual organs, of the flare of the knot, of the glistening curves of openings. He can't help but linger on the drawings of the nude and aroused male werewolves, studying the differences in their forms at the various stages of transformation. The most detailed drawings are full-page spreads of the whole pack racing through the woods together. It's beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Feral, and raw in some places, but still… 

And he realizes that Derek is waiting on him, watching him as he takes in these images, as tense as he's ever seen him. Stiles lifts his face to the Alpha and says, "it's beautiful."

Derek's eyebrows spike upwards in surprise then draw down as he looks away, blinking a few extra times. He nods silently, jaw clamped tightly shut as he pushes to his feet and turns away, going to stand at the window for a long moment. Stiles gazes at the taut muscles in his back for a moment, considers going to him, but Peter's presence is enough to make him hesitate. 

So he just watches Derek stare at nothing, wonders what he's thinking. If he's mourning the loss of his rituals, his true mate. Eventually breaks his gaze away from Derek's form with a sigh and returns his attention to the book, turning the page, ready to reveal and thoroughly study more of the mysteries of werewolf lore that would soon be an integral part of his life.

Because he was going to become an Alpha's _mate_ , and damned if he wasn't going to do his best to get it right. 

He owed Derek nothing less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want that book now...


	4. Chapter 4

After his aimless perusal of the book as a whole, Stiles turns back to the front of the book, reading over the table of contents. Derek watches him gnaw on his lower lip as he reads the list, tapping a page here and there.

"Oh cool, the Betas have their own rituals," he says, eyes lighting up as he flips between the sections and notices the different titles. 

He should have known that Stiles would find this fascinating, at least in an intellectual sense. He'd always been the first to pursue internet searches and check out library books on any situation they'd come across over the past year and a half. Always been the most passionate about the information he dug up and the questions he'd pestered Derek with.

It lends an odd sense of normalcy to the task for the merest moment. But the tension of waiting for the rest has Derek wanting to run out into the woods he's been staring at. Instead he makes himself come back from the window. Peter eyes him with a raised eyebrow as he returns, then looks pointedly at the open seat on the couch next to Stiles. He scowls in response, but comes to perch on the edge of the sofa anyway. Not so close that he would be distracted by the urge to press his nose into the curve of Stiles's throat. But close enough that he could see the book and Stiles's face at the same time.

Stiles glances up at him with a small smile as he nears. He blushes faintly as he flips to the section called "Claiming a Human" like he's been waiting for Derek's participation to get to the point.

"This one?" Stiles asks in confirmation, pointing to the header.

Derek nods. He waits, hands folded tightly as Stiles reads. He watches the boy's lips part and move vaguely over different words and concepts, watches his lashes flick back and forth as his eyes traverse the page. 

"The… you'll go Fully wolf?" Stiles asks, incredulous, though the answer is right there on the page. He doesn't look up for an answer, though Derek nods. 

"It's about the contrast, taking full human and full wolf to meet in the middle, to the Were," he says quietly, relaying something his mother had told him once about the ritual. 

Stiles glances at him for a moment, then mulls that over. "Okay. So. You… ," he clears his throat again awkwardly before he schools his face to matter-of-fact and continues. "The wolf Alpha meets up with the human mate and… they mate," he says. 

"Right," Derek adds faintly.

"Oh man," he mutters. If that's overwhelming… Derek tenses. It doesn't sound quite so terrifying in the words, but the pictures are far more vivid, which Stiles is just now turning to. 

Little drawings of a human running naked through the trees. A feral-looking alpha-wolf chasing, body stretched in long bounds, eyes bright. The energy of it is frantic, almost terrified. He listens to Stiles's heart skip up at the sight, though it's only going to get worse. There's an even more detailed drawing on the next page. This time the wolf is tackling the human to the ground, teeth bared over the person's throat as they pin them to the earth. The only colors are the black ink it's drawn with, and the faded yellowing paper in between, with sanguine splashes of red ink where the scratches mar the human's body, and the Alpha's eyes are. 

In the final image the human is sprawled forward on the ground, face and arms in the dirt and hindquarters in the air, partially hidden by the massive wolf whose body is arching over them. Arching _into_ them, head thrown back in a triumphant howl. Though he knew it hadn't been fair, it's exactly the image he'd been so hesitant for Stiles to see.

To Derek it's practically pornography, so much so that the thought of imagining what it will be like the coming moon, imagining having Stiles beneath him and - well. It has him shifting his hips reflexively. But to Stiles it must seem like some horrific act of bestiality, unable to reconcile society's definition of the wolf as animal with the sentience he knew this wolf contained. He watches his face for any signs of reaction, but the boy's features are strangely unexpressive.

Except…

His tongue slips forward to brush against the inside edge of his lips, and his cheeks start to flush red. And his pupils dilate. God, his pupils _dilate_.

Peter snickers again and Derek glares at him as Stiles flushes sharply, turning the page to the remaining words describing the details of the rite.

"It's a good thing you run for lacrosse," Peter muses. "It's more difficult for humans, but if you can manage to wear Derek out a little, the ravishment will be a little less ferocious." 

But when Derek glares bloody murder at him he blinks, then winces, making a face as though just realizing his error. Which perhaps he has. "Oh. Except-,"

"He won't be chasing," Stiles says flatly, looking faintly queasy.

"You'll be fine. It'll be fun, really," Peter says dismissively, though it hardly rings true. "I'm sure we can get Melissa to be at the house to provide first-aid when-,"

"That isn't helping," Derek grits out at his uncle, who is still smirking at them.

Peter just rolls his eyes, but he grimaces in concession. "Fine. I'll take my amusement elsewhere and leave the bride to her blushes," he says and stands. 

Stiles gapes at him, seemingly too upset or tired to even come up with a suitable retort. It makes Derek angry. Stiles always has a comeback. The day is wearing on all of them.

"Someone should probably start telling the pack soon so they know what they'll be needed to do…," Peter muses to the air as he walks away.

The silence is tense and heavy even in Peter's absence. Stiles just puts his palms to his face and leans on his elbows like he's overwhelmed. And rightfully so. Derek's feeling more than a little wearied himself. Looking down at Stiles, he lifts a hand towards his shoulder. He hesitates a few inches away, then remembers the way Stiles had taken his hand earlier, the way they'd leaned against each other and then almost…

It had been good. Genuine.

He sets his hand softly on Stiles's shoulder, then rubs slowly across his back, fingers skimming under the folds of his hood on his back till his arm is all the way around him. Stiles doesn't react at first, and then after a moment he leans into Derek a little, so that his shoulder bumps against his chest. A while later Stiles lifts his face from his hands and reaches up to put one hand over his shoulder to interlace with Derek's fingers that are resting there. He sits up slightly, pulling Derek's arm more tightly around him.

He looks up at Derek a moment, considering something. Then abruptly he leans forward, setting his mouth against Derek's. It's like a spark, the chemistry and the intensity of having his mate's mouth against his own for the first time. It's heady and wonderful and- 

Derek jerks back and Stiles is already blurting "I'm sorry dude, I shouldn't have… I just wanted to try…,"

"… it was… I was just surprised. I didn-,"

"… I should have asked. I'm screwing everything up for you-,"

"… not like it's… none of this should be happening like this. Stiles, I'm so sorry." 

At Derek's last words Stiles groans and flops back onto the couch, looking exhausted. 

"You know what? This is ridiculous," he says, flailing his arms up into the air over his chest for emphasis. "Could we maybe stop with the apologizing? Like altogether? I mean, look. It sucks. You never wanted me as your mate, I never wanted to be railroaded into this either. But it's decided. Right? It's done." He looks up at Derek with those measureless amber eyes, mouth turned in a slight frown.

Derek stares at him a moment as his hands drop and get shoved in his hoodie pockets. Then he nods and says, "Yeah."

He takes a breath, hesitates on the subsequent words, but then decides to say them. "And you can kiss me. If you want. I…," he says, but the rest of the words get caught in his throat the way Stiles is looking at him, wide-eyed and lips faintly parted. His face settles into a more unfathomable look and he studies Derek's like he's trying to translate something on it.

Eventually Derek breaks the gaze to clear his throat and asks, "Are you hungry?"

Stiles looks surprised, then glances down at his stomach like he hasn't considered it till that moment. "Yeah I could eat."

 

Peter's waiting for him when he goes into the kitchen, already setting out the makings for sandwiches. He turns when Derek comes, leans against the counter and crosses his ankles as he pops a slice of sandwich meat in his mouth and eyes his nephew. Derek ignores him and continues the sandwich making process.

"You still haven't told him," his uncle says. It's not a question.

Derek frowns over that but, he shouldn't have expected any less, considering it was Peter. Of course he'd been listening in. 

"Look, as amusing as I find all of this, there are some points that I think should be taken very seriously. Him erroneously believing you don't want him as your mate is one of them."

Derek huffs a tense sigh through his nose as he stacks lettuce and cheese and turkey on slices of bread. He'd be suspicious of his motives, but Peter had never been anything but passionately honest when it came to what his mom had liked to call "family business". 

Maybe Peter's right, but… he doesn't know how he can bear to shatter the fragile equilibrium he and Stiles have been building.

"You need to be honest with him, Derek," Peter argues. "It will be better if he knows now."

"How? How is that going to make it any better?" he says, barely keeping his voice down as he gestures in frustration.

"In the short term? It's not. But Derek, please, you have to think about the future," Peter pleads, laying a broad palm on his forearm. "This is for _life_. A little suffering now is worth it. Believe me."

And Peter knows about suffering. Derek frowns at him. Then again, so does Derek. "He's going to think I'm manipulating him into this," Derek grits out.

Peter nods slowly, gesturing his acceptance of the possibility. "Maybe. But," he says, pointing, "He'll be making an informed choice that way. If you _don't_ tell him, and he finds out later… how betrayed would you feel?" he asks, eyebrows high and blue eyes bright in the kitchen lights.

Derek sighs. It would be a horrendous betrayal.

Peter continues, tilting his head at the recognition in Derek's eyes. "It could bring ruin to your bond. And as horrible as that is in itself, as much as I would never wish that for you, it's more than that. As an Alpha, if your relationship with your mate deteriorates, so does the entire pack."

Derek turns and grips the edge of the counter hard. He's right. He's really right. But Stiles looks exhausted and… maybe after sandwiches. Stiles likes food. And food makes everything better. Wasn't that what Aunt Lacey had always said?

"I'll think about it." 

Peter knows well enough when to let go of something, for the moment anyway. He turns back to the counter, helping Derek stack together the sandwiches and cut them to arrange on plates.

"And about telling the pack?" Peter asks.

Derek sighs, half-turning back to look at his uncle. It would never have been a thing, back in the old days. Everyone would already know, because they'd already be home with the pack. He knew it rankled Peter that he'd turned so many teenagers, people who had their own families they had to stay with. 

He wishes they lived here too. 

And perhaps one day they would. If he can ever manage to become a half-decent Alpha. He makes a face and then nods. "Start bringing them in. Let them know we have a pack emergency they'll need to be here for by tomorrow morning at the latest."

Peter nods, smiling faintly at him as he plucks his cell phone out of his pocket as Derek turns to go back out to the living room, sandwiches in hand. Stiles's face lights up at the sight of food, like he's actually realized how hungry he is. He makes grabby-hands in the air at Derek as he strides closer.

The front door slams open and Erica storms in just as Derek's kneeling and setting down the sandwiches in front of Stiles. Her eyes are flashing gold and sweat is still beaded on her forehead as she paces around the living room, furious and ranting about "a bunch of freaking psychos!" 

"Erica," he says, but she's too busy spitting epithets. Dog names. He exchanges a glance with Stiles, seeing the recognition there too. Apparently she'd run into Mara's pack in town. Giving up on the verbal, Derek stands and lifts an arm. Immediately she turns instinctively and walks straight into him, burrowing against his side. 

"It's okay," he murmurs. "We're taking care of them." 

After a moment the fury and shaking drains away from her body. She nuzzles her nose against his neck absently. In the past few months the Betas have been growing more comfortable with their werewolf instincts. Every time it surprises him and reminds him how long it's been since he's had family around him. Eventually she steps back and sighs, striding over and dropping down on the couch next to Stiles.

It also reminds him how he's building family once again. A faint flicker of hope nudges around painfully in his chest as he glances at Stiles and kneels back down at the coffee table.

"Hey," she says to Stiles, patting his leg absently.

"Hey," he replies. But he gnaws on his lip and glances from her over to Derek with a twitch of his eyebrows. Derek shakes his head slightly. They'll wait for the others to arrive. He puts the book back in the box and closes it, setting it aside carefully. Besides, they could both use a break from all of it for a few minutes at least.

"Sandwich stuff in the kitchen," Derek says to her when she turns speculative eyes on their food.

"Mhmm," she says, then leans across the table to snag one of Derek's sandwich halves. He lets her have it. Nobody could say he wasn't a generous Alpha from time to time.

Isaac is the next to show up, coming as though he'd left immediately upon receiving Peter's call. And really it's not surprising since the foster parents he'd been assigned while they waited for his emancipation paperwork to go through had enough to deal with caring for their other children. Everyone, themselves included, considered their guardianship mostly a formality.

It's when he walks in that Erica realizes something more is going on, looking between them at Isaac's worried face. 

"Uh oh," she murmurs, and Derek turns an acknowledging look on her.

She casts a speculative glance at Stiles, then gets up and heads to the kitchen then, pulling Isaac with her. "Come on, I think we're gonna need more sandwiches."

 

Boyd comes not much later than that, only a bit out of breath from the run there. He apologizes for the delay explaining that he'd had to wait for his mom to get off work to watch his little sister. 

Peter comes out with another load of sandwiches and sodas and they all pile around the coffee table, mostly trying to cram onto the couch and leaving Derek to drag over another armchair. He really should consider getting another couch given that his wolves were mostly teenagers and were fond of having their cuddle-piles there.

Eventually he settles into his chair and clears his throat to gather their attention. "So as most of you are aware by now, we had a strange pack come into town this morning."

"So are they going to leave, or are we going to have to _make_ them leave?" Boyd asks, eyes flaring gold over a feral smirk. Erica and Isaac exchange similar grins with him.

"Unfortunately it's a little more complicated than that," he says firmly.

"Don't worry, you'll have your chance to sink your teeth into them," Peter adds, and they look at him with interest, but he defers to Derek again with a nod.

"There are a lot of things I haven't taught you yet," Derek says, letting a hint of apology spread into his voice. "For instance, there are a set of old laws which all packs must abide by. As it happens, we've been in violation of one of these laws."

He glances automatically at Stiles, and the rest of the pack follows suit. The teen waves and grimaces awkwardly. "Uh. Hi guys."

"Because Stiles knows about us, but isn't part of the pack, isn't a wolf, we're breaking the rules. Now, normally this wouldn't be a problem, most packs ignore violations unless they become an active problem. But this Mara seems to hold a grudge against the Hales and is making a formal complaint."

The Betas aren't looking so pleased anymore. They exchange concerned glances, and also cast some Stiles's way.

"And when formal complaints are made, it's a very serious matter. Most of the options result in either Stiles's death or the pack's. I think we all agree that this is unacceptable," Derek says quietly. The pack, Peter included, all nod in agreement, levels of dismay varying. 

"Now, we've been working on this all day, looking for loopholes or provisions, but according to all our knowledge and Deaton's combined, it seems that there is only one viable option for us to take," Derek says.

He hears Stiles's heart skip up a pace as he holds his breath. Trying to hold up his courage possibly, despite the way his cheeks are pinkening. He purses his lips into a thin line as he looks over at Derek and gives him a nod.

"This is probably going to seem a bit strange to you, but one of the options the law allows is for me, the Alpha, to take Stiles as my mate."

The pronouncement is met with stunned silence, then all three heads swivel to stare at Stiles.

"Okay what?" Erica says after a long moment.

"It's a little complicated," Peter says, glancing at Derek for approval. He gives him a nod to continue, and the elder Hale begins explaining all the things he'd already explained to Stiles throughout the day.

Stiles just kind-of curls up on the couch in a weird blend of stiffness and limpness, looking like he's doing his best to be strong and part of the pack, even though he would much rather be anywhere else. 

Peter talks for a long time, explaining the basics of the rituals. Sharing things from his own experiences. Before long their fascination has completely overwhelmed their surprise. Derek realizes he hadn't known how eager they might be for werewolf lore, not being born wolves. It's another thing he's been remiss in as Alpha. 

He'll have to be more dedicated in restoring their library and sharing their history. Maybe… he gazes at Stiles in consideration for a moment. It draws the teen's attention, brows arching up in question. He just smiles and shakes his head.

But the idea… Stiles liked to do research. Maybe…  
Maybe it could be a project for them. Together. As mates. Writing down all the Hale lore he could remember. Digging through folklore together to separate the seeds of truth from the weeds of time and fantasy.

It could help them grow closer as mates. And as a pack.

There's a tightening in his chest at the thought of it as he gazes at Stiles, tuning out the conversations of the pack. He hopes, really hopes that it will work. That everything will… 

Stiles is looking at him again. Not for the first time Derek notices just how enthralling his eyes are. Only this time he gets to look, no apologies necessary. Really _look_. The way the light catches in them like an amber pool, fiery like the harvest moon, long with a depth well beyond his years, and-

The moment is shattered by the sound of Stiles's phone going off. Even the Betas jerk in surprise, having been entranced by the rise and fall of Peter's voice. It takes him a moment, but he places the song as Stiles fumbles for his pocket. It's the theme from Beverly Hills Cop. 

"Seriously?" Derek asks, grinning at him. 

Stiles makes a face at him but underneath it the corners of his mouth turn up in a responding grin as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and gets up. "Oh like you wouldn't. It's my Dad," he explains as if it weren't obvious. "I've gotta take this."

Peter frowns momentarily as Stiles walks away, then turns back to the group. "As I was saying, the pack's duty is to protect the mate and the Alpha while they're bound together. Usually it's a formality, but in our case, having an outside pack in attendance, we'll need…"

Though Stiles has walked out onto the porch, with just a little focus, Derek can hear him clearly as Peter continues to speak. He probably shouldn't… and normally he wouldn't. Maybe. He is a werewolf after all. Not the most privacy-oriented creatures on the planet.

Whatever. Time is too short to bother with polite formalities.

"… yeah pretty good. How about you?" 

He wonders if the Sheriff notices the lie in his son's voice. It's a subtle tension, well-hidden. Derek can also hear his fingers tapping out a rhythm against the porch railing as he paces back and forth along it. Derek finds it strangely comforting to hear. Stiles is never able to sit still except when things were at their worst, when he shuts down everything but life-support. 

"Oh, ok. Again? No I know… what? No it's nothing," he denies. That one was a flat out untrue. "That's… I'm just worried about you, taking all these doubles. You're working too hard Dad."

And there's that. It's something he'd mused about, just once or twice in the past few months, just in the privacy of his own thoughts. That Stiles was so dedicated to taking care of others, whatever it took. That he'd be good at taking care of a pack, filling in the places where Derek was weakest, noticing the details he missed.

He sighs. "Okay. Well. I was thinking about maybe hanging out with friends tonight anyway. We've got a big group project coming up so…,"

Well. That was one way of putting it. Stiles's _"way"_ with the truth never ceased to amuse him, though he was sure it brought his father no end of pain. And it would probably have been an issue between him and Derek if it weren't for the fact that Derek could cheat. Though Stiles was getting better at it constantly. 

"Yeah. You too. And don't forget to take your breaks. Go for a walk and-," 

He cuts off, probably interrupted by his Dad finishing his list of admonishments for him. He sighs and laughs. "Yeah, yeah, ok. Love you too."

He hangs up, but he stays out on the porch. After a moment his pacing stalls, and his fingers stop drumming their tempo on the railing. The wood creaks faintly as he leans against it, sighing. The silence stretches.

Derek gets up before he even realizes what he's doing, though the lull in Peter's voice has him glancing at the pack. They're all gazing up at him expectantly. They'd been listening to Peter, not Stiles. They wouldn't know why he was standing. Well. Except for maybe Peter, who's looking at him with raised eyebrows and a knowing smirk. 

He clears his throat. "It's getting late. We should get a good night's rest and pick things up in the morning," he says.

The others look vaguely disappointed that story-time is being interrupted, but Erica yawns as Boyd gets up saying, "Fair enough."

"Thanks," Isaac says softly, glancing between him and Peter, and Derek feels his face soften into a warm smile in return. Yeah. He was definitely going to have to convince Stiles to take up that project with him.

He follows them out onto the porch. It's gratifying the way they each wrap Stiles up into a hug as they pass him, leaving him bewildered but pleased. He watches as they all pile into Isaac's car and disappear into the night. And it is night, finally. The moon is just lifting up above the edges of the trees, bright and turgid. 

"I sent them home to sleep. They'll be back tomorrow," he explains.

Stiles nods, looking over at him. The power of the moon makes him almost dizzy with want, so Derek gives in to impulse and walks over to slip his arms around Stiles's shoulders as well, taking in the faint scent of his pack and his mate all in one bundle. Stiles turns into his grip, slipping his own arms around Derek's torso and leaning his head against his shoulder. He's pleased by how well they fit together, Stiles being just an inch or so shorter than him, able to prop his chin tight against Derek's neck and stand belly-to-belly as Derek tightens his grip. Derek runs what he hopes is a soothing palm across Stiles's back and up against the taut muscles at the back of his neck. They just stand there like that for a while.

"Stay here tonight? With me?" Derek finds himself asking. And suddenly it's terribly, horribly important that Stiles _chooses_ to stay. Even if he doesn't take him up on the implication of the second statement and sleeps in a guest bedroom. That doesn't matter. All he really needs is for Stiles to choose to stay.

Stiles feels it too, if the way his arms tighten around Derek further is any indication. "Yeah," he says, voice sounding thick and wet as he says it. "Yeah." 

He steps back from Derek's arms a moment after that, offering him a weak but genuine smile.

"Tired?" Derek asks.

Stiles's shoulders drop dramatically as he tips his head back. "Dude you have no idea," he groans, turning and shuffling back towards the open front door.

Derek follows him in but Stiles heads straight back to the living room instead of the stairs like Derek had expected. He walks over to where Peter is still munching on the last bits of his sandwich, having been too busy talking to eat with as much gusto as the others. Derek hesitates in the doorway, wondering momentarily if Stiles is planning on crashing on the couch, not having understood his implication that he wanted Stiles to stay with him, in his bed.

But Stiles just starts stacking up the dishes and sweeping up the crumbs and humming idly to himself as he straightens up the room. Derek is suddenly struck by the picture it makes, the future it could possibly become. Stiles, cleaning up after the pack has been over, because it's his home as much as Derek's. And then Derek joining him in the kitchen while they do the dishes together. Him listening to Stiles talk about anything, everything, over soapy water. Thinking about how frequently he could get away with starting a water-fight, mostly as an excuse to get Stiles wet, then out of his clothes as they chase each other up the stairs and fall into bed together, a tangle of limbs and smiles and happiness.

His parents had been like that.

He makes himself move forward and take a stack of plates from Stiles, carrying them to the kitchen and leaving them in the sink. If there was one good thing about werewolves, it was that they rarely ever left anything on their plates to clean. 

"Leave them," Derek says, both because Stiles is tired and because he's not sure he can handle touching on that little fantasy just now. Peter's just finishing his sandwich as they walk back into the living room.

"Well. I'll let you two love-birds have some privacy," Peter says, standing up with a stretch and a sigh. Stiles rolls his eyes and goes back to the table, picking up the mating rituals box again from under the table and setting it on the surface.

Peter gazes at Stiles, then gives Derek a speaking look before he turns away and heads towards the kitchen, plate in hand.

"Tell him," he murmurs under his breath, loud enough for Derek to hear but Stiles to miss.

Yeah.

He waits till he hears Peter's bedroom door close, then drifts closer behind Stiles. The teen is just running his fingers over the leather cover of the book, not looking through it any more. Thinking, more than anything else, Derek supposes. He sets a hand on Stiles's shoulder. When the teen looks up at him he tilts his head towards the stairwell.

"Bed?" he asks, pleased that he'd figured out how to let Stiles know in an easy manner that he wasn't expecting him to sleep on the couch. Or anywhere but with him.

Stiles closes the box again and then pushes back from the table. Derek leads the way up the stairs. He'd kept his old bedroom, even though it was one of the smaller rooms in the house. Maybe now that would have to change, now that he was taking a mate. He hadn't wanted to move into his parents' room just because he'd become the alpha. But it would be a waste not to use the space if Stiles…

Not that they'd talked about that. About him moving in eventually. They hadn't talked about the Sheriff either. They hadn't talked about a lot of things.

And why would Stiles move in with him? The teen is only doing this out of necessity, _and_ he thinks Derek is doing the same. He doesn't even know that there is more to it for Derek. More to the mate bond and more to his feelings. How can he? Derek hasn't _told_ him anything.

He sits heavily on the middle of his bed, torn. It's shoved into a corner underneath a slanted wall with a dormered window letting the moonlight spill down onto the tarnished brass frame supporting the mattress. 

Stiles shuts the door behind him, then drifts to a halt in the middle of the room, looking around. The room is naturally quite different since it's been completely remodeled, post-fire. Unlike the bed of his youth, the rectangle he's sitting on is not a small one, taking up most of the room. And unlike the room of his youth, the place is sparsely decorated, with hardly anything but clothes and a few books in evidence that someone lives there. 

The room is getting warm with both of them in there. Normally he'd crack open the window to revel in the scents of the forest, but at the moment he's too busy reveling in Stiles's scent mingling with his own.

Stiles toys with the zipper-pull on his sweatshirt as he drifts around the room, running curious fingers over books and furniture and stacks of clean laundry. He probably doesn't realize he's practically marking Derek's personal territory. Or maybe he does, Derek muses as the teen tugs the zipper of his hoodie down so that the fabric parts and he can shrug out of it. The boy is plenty sharp, after all. He tosses it over the back of Derek's chair. Over Derek's jacket. His eyes narrow on it.

Eventually Stiles has looked his fill of the room and he drifts closer, looking down at Derek. His fingernails scratch idly at the crook of his elbow as the corners of his mouth twitch and his eyebrows start to lift a little. Like he's wondering how they're going to do things. Have a bit of a bro-cuddle maybe, or sleep on opposite sides of the bed, or possibly try for…

Before he even knows what he's saying, Derek is speaking. "I need to tell you something," he begins.

Stiles groans and sags to the floor in a gangly heap of teenager, pushing his face against the bed next to Derek's thigh. "Please god no more," he says in a blanket-muffled voice.

Derek would love more than anything to oblige him. But he can't. "I'm sorry Stiles, but I have to tell you this now. Before we go any further."

He sighs, then turns his face up to look at him. He looks exhausted. "Okay. Shoot."

"About how I feel about you. About you becoming my mate. I know you don't think this is true, but I do want you," Derek says quietly. "You're… even before all of this. I… I've wanted you. As my mate." 

To Derek's dismay, Stiles shakes his head with a mirthless laugh, looking up at him with a weary expression. "Thanks but please, I really, _really_ don't want your pity, kind as it is."

Derek frowns at him, fingers curling in his palm.  
"It's not pity," he says. 

Stiles lifts his head, up, sitting back on his heels and looks at him, expression fading from his face altogether.

"It's not pity at all," Derek whispers. He leans forward and presses his lips against Stiles's, softly but unmistakably. When he lifts his head, Stiles is staring at him with an unfathomable crash of expressions on his face. His mouth works, though nothing comes out as he stares down at Derek's knee.

"You want me," he says flatly. Derek nods.

"As your mate. You _have_ wanted me. Past and present tense," he says, like he's trying to make absolutely certain he understands. His eyes are wide and his face is pale. Derek nods again, trying not to grit his teeth or glower in frustration and embarrassment. It's not going well. Despite Peter's confidence he'd _known_ it wasn't going to go over well. It was a lot easier to suggest telling the truth than actually live through the rejection and-

"That's…" Stiles stares at his chest, eyes riveted a mile away in stunned silence.  
Then Stiles laughs almost hysterically. "You know, I really don't know if that's going to make it better or worse when you rape me into the ground tomorrow night." 

It hurts, to hear it put that way. Like Stiles had just raked claws across his throat. But he has nothing to say to that because it's nothing but the truth.  
Derek just closes his eyes. He can't look at the disbelieving expression on Stiles's face anymore. 

"I'm sor…," he cuts himself off with a snap of teeth. They'd agreed, no more apologies. 

He takes a slow breath, clinging to the fact that Stiles hasn't shoved him away. Hasn't screamed at him in rage and hatred. Hasn't bolted and left him and the pack to die. And Stiles had said _when_ , not _if_. He was still planning to go through with it. It's not much, but maybe… maybe Peter was right and the pain now would save them worse to come. It hurts, though, hearing the rejection he'd dreaded.

"I didn't mean…," Stiles says in a whisper.

He just shakes his head silently, screwing his eyes shut more tightly, fingers curling into the corner of the mattress.

"I know it's not like that. I don't mean that," Stiles says, voice throaty and intense with sincerity.

Derek feels the breath he gulps in catch on his throat as he brings his hands up to press into his face. His heart is pounding and he feels dizzy, the moonlight spilling through the window onto his skin sizzling on his senses like scalding water now instead of a hopeful pull. He wants to run, more than anything right now.

But then Stiles is moving, slipping closer till he's between Derek's knees.

"Derek," he says, fingers gripping his knees, then his hands. "Derek," he begs, voice breaking over the word as he pulls his hands down from his face and casts amber pools of reflected moonlight up at him, wide and desperate.

He just looks at him, knowing his face is contorting in pain but unable to stop it because it's reflected in Stiles's face. 

And then Stiles is kissing him. Pressing forward until he's practically climbing into Derek's lap, fingers tangling in his shirt and then gripping him by the neck so he can pull even closer.

His kiss is without artifice, desperate and hard. Open-mouthed. Derek opens himself to the teenager. Lets him take whatever he wants of him. Lets his hands push over his throat and chest and scrape up under his tank-top along his back. His body sings at the tangle of energy, at the rejoicing at the touch of his mate. At the light of the moon dancing in electric waves over his skin as he pulls Stiles close. Stiles pushes his thighs wider, straddling his hips and grinding down against him with a moan that's smothered against Derek's tongue as he kisses the Alpha relentlessly.

He doesn't know if this is right, letting Stiles come to him like this, like desperation and moonlight and sex. But he can't do anything else. He doesn't even know if he could define any boundaries of right or wrong in the face of the coming ritual. And he doesn't _want_ to stop him, even if he had thought it was the right thing to do. 

He can't, he won't deny Stiles anything in this moment.

"I'm not a virgin, you know," Stiles blurts, jerking his head back and looking at him like he dares Derek to deny it.

"I know," Derek says gently. He'd known almost a year ago the day Stiles had come around positively drenched in the scents of sex and female. He'd been happy for him, if he'd really even given it a thought. And then a few months later there had been the similar, but different scents of a boy Derek had never met. Before he'd realized it was a developing jealousy toying with his urges, he'd slammed Stiles up against a wall on that second occasion over some petty argument. He now knew it had mostly been an excuse to draw in the scent of sex on him. To blot out some of the _other's_ scent with his own.

But the scent of sex is heavy on Stiles _now_. And the only scent on him is his own.

"I know," he murmurs, pressing his face up against Stiles's neck. The teen moans, arching into him, only the thin layers of cotton separating their skin, the muscles beneath. Then Stiles's hands are scraping, dragging Derek's shirt up and over his head, then tossing it aside. He leans back, gripping Derek with just his deceptively powerful thighs and hauls off his own tee. When he presses his mouth to Derek's again, presses his body tight, there's nothing but skin between their pounding hearts.

Derek holds him, draws in his scent. He lets Stiles have whatever he wants, waits to take anything until it is something can be something taken in turn. Tomorrow night Stiles will have no control over their mating, to the point of it being dangerous should Derek lose control of himself and his instincts. So tonight, _tonight_ Stiles will have everything his way. He would give anything to the boy straddling his thighs, he would give him the moon, if only it were in his power to do so.

When Stiles lurches to his feet and starts fumbling with his belt buckle, Derek presses his forehead against his trim abdomen, head pounding with the myriad of scents and sensations. He grips Stiles's thighs as though to steady himself, head tilting as he draws in his scent. Stiles shudders when his lips brush through the fine trail of hair from his navel leading south, and then his jeans' button finally gives and he's yanking the zipper down roughly, shoving the denim off his hips to pool at his feet and be subsequently kicked aside. 

Legs freed, he pushes at Derek's shoulders till he lays back horizontally across the bed, leaving his body totally open to Stiles's questing fingers. His beautiful, angular and deft hands, just the right mix of softness and callouses, of curiosity and forthrightness. Stiles drags his hands down Derek's chest, scraping through the soft layer of hair till he reaches his waistband. The jeans are quickly unfastened, and he lifts his hips obligingly as Stiles pulls on the pants, taking his boxer-briefs with them in one fell swoop. The slap of his hardening cock against his hip is loud in the small room, as is the shuddering breath it elicits from Stiles as he pulls away the remaining clothes. They are gathered and summarily discarded.

Stiles steps back a moment now that he's freed Derek of every scrap of clothing, leaving behind one werewolf, Alpha male, human form. He stares at Derek, looks at his body with this deep, tangled look in his eyes. Like he's always know this is what it would be like, and like he's looking at him for the first time. Derek gazes back at him, studying every detail of his bared skin. The constellations of moles that dot his torso, the soft little peaks of his nipples, the way the muscles in his throat curve down to his chest. Only Stiles's boxers remain and they're hardly doing anything to disguise the tenting over his groin, the sight of which has Derek's cock twitching. 

Then, as though he has noticed the regard, Stiles is yanking his boxers down and stepping forward out of them to leave them both completely skyclad, nude save for the splashes of silver light spilling through the windows. He doesn't hesitate before leaning down and climbing up over Derek, straddling his body and boxing his head in with his arms. His erection brushes against Derek's thigh and hip, leaving a trail of pre-cum behind on his skin. Derek's own erection is laying thick against his belly, only his watchfulness for Stiles's wellbeing preventing him from being so hard he'd be at full attention. But Stiles knows what he wants, right then anyway. He's angling his mouth down over Derek's, and letting his body sink down so that his skin is pressed flush with him over every available inch. His hands tangle in Derek's hair, fingers tight against his scalp. He moans as Derek's arms narrow reflexively around his waist and their hips shift together slightly as a result. And then Stiles rolls his hips intentionally, grinding them together with slow friction. 

Eventually he leans aside on one elbow, slipping his hand down to touch both of them, to wrap around their lengths and slide over them together. He gets them both smeared with pre-cum, pressing them down together against Derek's belly so that he can roll his hips and fuck against Derek and his hand simultaneously. Derek slips a hand down as well, wrapping broader, blunter fingers over wiry ones, filling in the gaps with even more calloused skin to rub against. He tightens his grip as Stiles thrusts again and moans, tipping his head back and eyes fluttering shut as his lips part over the sound.

Derek angles his head up to nip and suck at the tender skin of his throat as he rocks his hips slowly into their hands, scraping his free hand along the curve of his spine, scraping his nails just ever so faintly over his skin. Stiles's moans and pants come in breathy fits against his cheekbone as the teen picks up his pace further, grinding them together in raw need.

The way he can hear his heart racing and jumping along with his gasps is enough to have Derek panting against his neck, fighting desperately not to let his moon-heightened urges to dominate or to were come out and ruin everything. It's a torture in itself to let Stiles have complete control, though it's clear he feels the urgency too, guiding their hands in rough strokes over their cocks. 

Within moments he can feel the muscles flexing in Stiles's back under his palm, hear the skip and stutter of his heart and the rush of breath against his skin as he lets out a choked moan, erupting in their hands and shaking his way through an orgasm that splatters their bellies with heat and wetness. It's too much, too much when Stiles moves their hands again roughly and makes a broken, whimpering sound against his ear. Breath coming in tight, heavy gasps as he grips Stiles's waist hard, Derek groans and spills himself against Stiles's hands and dick and belly, the hot sticky liquid clinging to him in places and falling to his own stomach in others. It's the most exquisite thing he's ever felt.

Stiles sort of wilts against him, going boneless and heavy against his chest. The heat of his skin, pressing over most of Derek's is the most astonishing, comforting thing Derek has ever felt. 

They lay in silence for a long time after that. Neither of them sleeps. He can hear Stiles's heart rate and breathing change from time to time as his thoughts change and roll through him like the eddies and flows of a river.

"The look on that bitch Mara's face is going to be priceless," Stiles says randomly.

Derek snorts, then Stiles does, and then suddenly they're both laughing, just laughing and laughing.

Derek rolls them over and burrows his face into Stiles's neck, reveling in the way his hand comes up to curl in the hair at the back of his neck.

"We're going to make it work," Stiles says. "Right? I mean, neither of us chose for this to happen but…," he trails off, and Derek can hear the sound of him swallowing even without his enhanced hearing.

"There's no one I'd rather have," Derek says quietly. "Never will be."

Stiles tugs at his hair and he lifts his head to look down at him. The teen's eyes are bright with moonlight and tears. He feels an answering burn in his own. 

"I'm… I promise you, I'm going to do whatever I can." His hand is stroking, almost petting the skin of Derek's neck and shoulder as he finds the words he wants "To be good at being your mate. To… to be happy. To make you happy," he says, words going low and wet with the tears that gather in the corners of his eyes. 

Derek's throat is tight as he gazes down at Stiles, not breaking his gaze even to blink. It's the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to him. He takes a slow, shuddering breath as he strokes his fingers gently through Stiles's hair, rubbing his thumb over the curve of his eyebrow and smiles down at him, trying not to let tears blur his vision.

"I will do everything I can to make this work. To give you everything that I am. Forever," he says, then touches Stiles's cheek as he concludes with, "I promise."

Stiles gazes at him, a watery smile spreading across his face mixed with a multitude of other emotions. He runs an answering hand over Derek's cheekbone, then lifts his head to bring their lips together. This time when he kisses Derek it's not borne of curiosity or passion but of… trust and affection, and something that could grow into love. Derek kisses him back with every ounce of tenderness he can manage. 

When they part, he straightens them out the rest of the way on the bed, letting go of Stiles so he can drag a blanket up over them. But when he lays back again, Stiles chooses to stay pressed tight against him, slinging an arm around his waist and nudging his head up under Derek's chin to rest against his shoulder.  
He chooses to stay. After a while, he falls asleep.  
Derek lies awake, gazing up out the window up at the sky, fingers resting against Stiles's bare skin.

Come what may in the light of the full moon.  
This is the moment he's never going to forget.


	5. Chapter 5

He wakes up in the light of the dawning sun and unlike every rom-com ever he knows instantly where he is. Of course that might have had something to do with the powerful arm curled around his waist and the fact that Derek Hale's head is resting on his chest and he has a hand tangled in that thick black hair.

And they're naked. Holy cow like totally naked aaaand he'd totally been the one who had made that happen. And the other stuff happen. And the… jeez. He'd had sex with Derek Hale. He'd never really thought (well not _seriously_ … not beyond the sort of idle speculation any healthy teenager might employ) about _kissing_ the guy, let alone _banging_ him before yesterday. 

Not that banging was really the most accurate word to describe…

Of course there was the fact that apparently he had been the only one oblivious to that option. That very sensual sparking-hot option. Derek had _wanted_ him. Derek still wanted him, so much so that he'd invited him into his bed and made promises to him that had involved words like _never_ and _forever_. 

And now here he is, the morning after, and… it isn't weird at all. In fact, it feels strangely right.

"Nuh, b' quiet…," Derek's muffled voice vibrates against his stomach.

"I didn't say anything," Stiles says indignantly.

"Thinking too loud," Derek mutters, arm tightening around Stiles's waist as he burrows his face against his skin.

And okay mister Alpha werewolf is not a morning person as it turns out. Stiles indulges him, since it totally suits his own desire to ignore whatever nerves might still be fluttering at the whole nakedness thing and just close his eyes again and bask in the morning light filtering through the window. He dozes for a while, warm and comfortable, fingers tracing an idle path along Derek's back, dipping into the curves of muscle and sinew, swirling along the curve of the triskele.

But eventually the weight of all his questions piling up is more than his tongue-holding skills can handle. "So this… finding out I was your mate… stuff," Stiles asks tentatively.

Derek grunts, but he's more awake this time and turns his head on Stiles's body to look up at him, eyebrows raised inquisitively. 

"How does that… work?" Stiles asks, gesturing vaguely with his hand.

Derek frowns as he thinks it over, still blinking away sleep. "It's… partly it's instinct and hormones. The way you smell is…," he trails off, pressing his nose against Stiles's skin again and… whoa, that shouldn't be so sexy, having a dude who was just your friend a day ago sucking in the scent of you but…  
Derek sighs and shakes his head a little, "It's like finding… compatibility. It's not conscious but… it becomes…," he sighs. "It's hard to explain," Derek says lamely.

Stiles makes a vaguely disappointed hum, but realizes that's probably all he's going to get out of him the way the tips of his ears are reddening. He adjusts his course. "How long?" 

Derek shrugs, repositioning his head on Stiles's skin to press a soft kiss above his navel before he turns over onto his back and settles his head there so he can see him more easily now that it's apparent Stiles isn't going to let him sleep anymore. "Maybe six months?"

Stiles blows his breath out between his lips. "Huh."

He sees Derek glance at him in his peripheral vision but he's too busy running all of their interactions over the past six months in his head. After a moment Derek sighs petulantly and he grins. "Nope, it's no good pouting. I'm gonna figure it out."

"What?" Derek asks, sounding pained. 

"When you realized. When it changed," he says, smirking. 

Derek groans in response. "I could just tell you," he says impatiently. And that was a much more familiar version of Derek. 

"Ahh no!" Stiles flinches theatrically, waving his arm at Derek before letting it land on his waist (totally not an excuse to feel up his abs. Nope) with a tiny smack. "Do not tell me. I want to figure it out."  
For all he's enjoying the soft, sensual way being in bed with Derek feels, it's oddly relieving to hear the annoyed huff he makes in response. 

"You're never going to guess," Derek says, and this time it's his turn to sound smug, even as he rubs his stubble against Stiles's ribcage.

Stiles lets out a sound of disagreement and purses his lips as he begins to think in earnest. But he keeps getting distracted by the feeling of Derek's fingers rubbing a slow pattern on his forearm. And his head is a little heavy on his stomach but he can't bring himself to care. Could it really be this easy? Being together like this? He would never have thought it, given his past experience with all of Derek's growls and penchant for throwing him into things. But this side of Derek, the one who was sleepy and cuddly and relaxed and yet still snarky and Derek-y… yeah he could probably handle more of this. 

Derek takes a breath to speak, interrupting Stiles's internal monologue.

"I was thinking. About your Dad. About how he's going to… react," Derek says, frowning at the ceiling.

Stiles's fingers still on Derek's skin. "You think we should tell him?" Stiles asks hesitantly. 

"I was just… well. Maybe?"

Stiles sighs faintly, finding the idea frankly terrifying. Things were still a little off between Scott and Melissa. Then again, Stiles wasn't a werewolf, so his dad wouldn't have to deal with that aspect. Except. Well he was going to be _mated_ to an Alpha werewolf so that really didn't make it any better.

Derek seems to sense his hesitation and continues, saying, "Maybe not right now but there's also… longer term stuff. How to tell him about… If he'd be okay with…," he trails off.

"God I don't even know…," Stiles says with a laugh. "I mean. He wouldn't care that you're a dude, but… like the other stuff? The werewolves and the life-mate thing and the fact that he once suspected you of murder and-,"

"That's still totally your fault," Derek points out, adding a knuckle to the ribs that has Stiles squirming.

Stiles makes like he's going to argue, but at Derek's raised eyebrow he grimaces over a grin and admits, "Okay fair point," as he pokes him back in the shoulder. "Fortunately we don't have to worry about any of that right now."

"He's not going to worry after you've been out two nights in a row?" Derek asks, surprised.

Stiles shrugs. "He'll probably be too tired to really notice it tonight anyway, after pulling a double like that last night he'll probably just go right to bed."

He hesitates a moment then adds, "I think he's going to have to get used to me spending the night out a little more often, anyway."

Derek looks up at him again with an inscrutable expression, and then it resolves into a small smile curving over his mouth.

"I'd like that. Maybe eventually…,"

Maybe eventually he'd stay for good. He hears the words even though they remain unspoken between them. They'd have to work their way up to that one but… 

"Plus I'll be eighteen next month soooo…,"

The smile disappears. Derek sits up, leaving Stiles's bare belly suddenly exposed to the cold morning air. He leans his elbows on his knees, staring down at the floor.

Oops. Way to go Stilinski. Remind someone in their twenties that they've just spent the night with, and are about to get basically married to _jailbait_. That won't be awkward at all.

"Speaking of which," he says, because he's an idiot, "Why isn't that a loophole?" 

Derek glances at him, eyebrows lifting in surprise. And oddly, he seems to relax. Like the more innate werewolf laws are supplanting his thoughts about Stiles being underage.

"Because in werewolf terms, you're an adult. After someone finishes reaching sexual maturity," Derek says with a muscle-rippling shrug. "Around high-school age usually."

Oh. That explains the pack then. 

"Well as you can now attest to I am _definitely_ and totally sexually mature," Stiles says with a smirk, rubbing his shin against the bare skin of Derek's lower-back.

"Not sure about the rest of you though," Derek mutters sotto-voce, earning himself a little kick to the kidneys.

He fakes a pained pout over at Stiles and puts a hand to the offended area and Stiles laughs, delighted in the playfulness, and then in the way a grin spreads fully and vividly across Derek's face. If he'd thought Derek was good-looking before, it's nothing compared to how beautiful he is when he smiles.

Stiles is definitely still a teenager though because his next thought is what that smile would look like wrapped around his dick. 

Awkward.

Derek's nostrils flare and he turns his head, standing away from the bed. And hello, the sight of Derek's perfectly sculpted ass is _not_ helping with the whole not-thinking-about-his-dick issue. As glad as he was last night had happened, he wasn't really ready to just go at it with Derek like they'd been leading up to being lovers for months. Derek might have had feelings towards him - and holy hell that was a… piece of information was what it was - but Stiles hasn't had time to figure out how he feels about it all. Fortunately Derek seems to be in agreement and just moves away and reaches into his dresser for some shorts and a tee shirt, tugging them on before turning a glance at Stiles. 

The sight seems to arrest him - and isn't that something? Stiles's lanky body, half-covered by a sheet in the morning light is enough to stop Derek hale in his tracks.

Yeah. He could get used to that.

Derek shakes it off though and finds Stiles's clothes, tossing them over to him before going in search of his own garments as Stiles sits up, sheet pooling in his lap. But Derek pauses, one leg in a pair of jeans and says, "You can… borrow things. If you want."

"I don't mind, they're not that dirty…," he says, but he catches the way Derek's ears tinge red and his face is studiously nonchalant. Oh. So maybe.  
Huh… 

_Werewolves_ , he thinks, rolling his eyes internally as he sniffs and scratches at his scalp.

"But yeah, maybe a clean tee. Clean shorts would be nice," he says, shrugging as he swings his legs down off the bed. It takes him a moment to screw up the courage, but he stands, naked as the day he was born, trying to emulate Derek's confidence in his skin as he walks across the room to where Derek had gotten his shorts. He feels the other man's eyes on him as he does so, but he doesn't look. They'll get there. Later. For now he just rifles through the drawer till he finds a pair that look smallish and tugs them on. Next he goes in search of a tee.

"You'll probably want to shower before we go down," Derek says, though he looks like the idea of it annoys him.

Stiles shrugs, not sure he understands Derek's frown. Well actually. He thinks he maybe does, since he kind-of doesn't feel like washing Derek off of himself at the moment either.

"Otherwise Peter will… say something about…," he gestures vaguely at Stiles's abdomen. 

Stiles groans and rolls his eyes, "Do you guys really go around smelling each other for jizz? Like, is that a thing you do? How do you ever masturbate around a bunch of werewolves?"

Derek laughs as he turns and walks out the door towards his bathroom. "You do it in the shower," he says.

And then Stiles is imagining Derek jerking off in the shower and _hello_. Any hope he'd had of not getting a boner that morning basically evaporates at that moment. 

"Um. A shower would be nice," he calls after him.

 

After he finishes jerking off in the master-bathroom shower and is sufficiently cleaned and dried, he makes his way downstairs. Derek's already down there. Stiles isn't sure whether he's gratified (Option A: he'd made Derek horny enough that it was a quick-to-finish wank session) or insulted (Option B: Unlike him, Derek hadn't been horny enough to bother). He arbitrarily decides on the former, and his self-satisfied smirk is enough to have Derek raising an eyebrow at him as he comes into the living room where Derek is sitting. Peter's not in attendance, so after only a moment's hesitation, Stiles takes the liberty of running his hand over Derek's arm as he passes.

His goal though, obviously, is the kitchen. "Got anything to eat?" he asks even though he knows it's a stupid question. Werewolves _always_ have food. The kitchen was one of the most thoroughly remodeled rooms in the house with state of the art appliances and slate counters. In fact… he gives in to curiosity for a moment and opens the small door at the back of the kitchen.

Yep. A pantry the size of a small bedroom. Though the shelves are actually woefully under-stocked at the moment. When he turns back to the kitchen, Derek's got his head in the fridge, which saves Stiles the embarrassment of being seen when he jerks back sharply in surprise at his sudden appearance. 

Erica walks into the kitchen just as Derek lifts a carton of eggs out of the fridge along with some milk. He nods to Erica like he's not at all surprised to see her. Which he probably isn't. 

Freaking werewolves, man. 

"Hey boys," she says, marching right over to Stiles. She wraps her arms around him in a firm hug and draws in a deep breath. 

"That is so weird," Erica mutters as she lets him go.

"You're telling me," he says, earning himself a snicker as she walks over to Derek to exchange a brief side-hug with him. Then she leans over the sink to push open the kitchen window.

She tilts her head a second, listening. "Where's Peter?" she asks. 

Stiles looks at Derek, but the Alpha isn't surprised. "I sent him to town to try and get copies of the maps of the preserve. We'll need them for tonight and I forgot we didn't have any in the house yet."

Oh. That makes sense. He meanders back across the kitchen to stand next to Derek and gets his own absent side-hug as Derek continues to gather items for whatever he's planning on cooking. Erica seems to know already since she's getting out flour and cinnamon and nutmeg and other spices. When Derek gets out the bread he figures it out.

"You make French-toast?" he blurts.

Derek raises an eyebrow at him. 

"Derek makes amazing French-toast," Isaac says as he walks in, Boyd in tow.

Erica leans close to Stiles and murmurs, "But I'm sure you'll be familiar with _all_ his breakfast foods very soon."

He glowers at her as Boyd squeezes past them for a glass to pour his orange juice into.

She just smirks at him, having way too much fun at his expense as she asks airily, "Did you sleep well?"

His lips twitch as he lifts his chin, "Very. Derek does this _really_ good impression of a blanket."

Boyd pauses with his juice an inch from his lips, then carefully sets it down and mutters, "Yeah that's going to take some getting used to."

Isaac sends Boyd a knowing look but Stiles doesn't care. He's feeling far too pleased with himself given the ways Erica's biting her lips against a laugh and Derek's ears are turning pink.

Eventually Isaac and Boyd join Erica and Derek in the cooking assembly line like it's something they've done a dozen times. It's awkward at first, and Stiles almost wanders away to do something else, but Derek grabs him by the belt-loop and makes them find a place for Stiles in the mix. He helps Derek butter the slices at the start because apparently part of the trick is putting a thin layer of butter on the bread before putting it into the egg and then making sure the spices are thoroughly mixed into the flour. The five of them make quick work of a loaf and a half of bread before Derek nudges him towards the table with a plate of steaming toast and then the rest of them subsequently take turns scarfing down a truly colossal amount of French-toast. 

Stiles, on the other hand, discovers that he can barely eat. The more he looks at the Betas and their feelings of excitement and anticipation for the full moon, the more his stomach starts to turn. Though at all the concerned glances he gets he forces some of the probably-delicious bread down his gullet. Keep up his strength and all that. But Derek doesn't eat nearly as much as the Betas either when he comes to sit down after turning off the griddle.

Peter gets back just as the Betas are washing their plates off. He hands off the maps to Derek and then goes for his own stack of toasts. They're really official looking maps. Big ones. Not the crappy ones you could get at the grocery store. Stiles frowns at them and then asks, "Hey how'd you get-,"

Peter just turns an extremely sardonic eyebrow raise on him.

Stiles blanches and leans back in his chair, feigning nonchalance. "Right. Nevermind," he says as the rest of them crowd around the table again, laying out the maps.

For Stiles, it's the first time he's actually seen the USGC grade maps of the area. It takes him much longer than everyone else to make heads or tails of the images. They're all picking out landmarks with ease, being much more personally familiar with the territory than Stiles.

But they make an effort to include him nonetheless. And then Derek starts talking specifics.

"We need to find places that have a clear route to our side, and a less passable route to theirs. They'll be faster than Stiles, so we need something a human can run in the dark but that you can also surround with relative ease."

Derek points to a place on the map and glances at Stiles. "I think we'll set up our pack here," he says. "I think that place was special to my family."

At his words, Peter leans over in his chair and looks down at the spot Derek is pointing to. He smiles faintly. "Good choice. Many a ritual has happened in that clearing."

The Betas snicker. Great. The Hale family equivalent of lover's lane.  
Whatever. Stiles would take any positive Karma he could get right now.

"You might consider here and here," he says, pointing to two places a mile or so away, "To give to Mara's pack. If they're stupid they might fall into the ravine here on their way over," he says, smirking and trailing a pinkie down a narrow line of sudden elevation drop.

The feral grin on the rest of the pack's faces at the suggestion has Stiles simultaneously vaguely terrified and very pleased. He would like that a lot if one of his would-be rapists would fall down a hole and die. Yeah, he thinks as his own feral grin spreads across his features, he would like that a lot. 

"This is really good, by the way," he says around a mouthful of toast. 

 

After the details have been more or less hammered out, the pack goes out into the woods to mark their territory, leaving Stiles alone. He wonders if maybe he should have gone with them, at least _tried_ to keep up with their supernatural stamina and speed. He doesn't want to set a precedent of being left out for being human, after all. 

But he was also worried he'd wear himself out before the night when he really needed his strength. So he'd stayed. Besides, being alone for the first time in like a day is doing good things for his sanity. It wasn't that he minded the constant touching and attention the wolves gave him. It really wasn't. It was just… new and overwhelming right now.

He settles into the couch with the rituals book and the map. He wants to get every possible detail before the evening comes. The more info he has the easier it is to intellectualize everything and compartmentalize his fear. He's actually feeling glad that he's been in so many insane, scary, shitty, adrenaline-filled situations over the past few years that his otherwise totally natural instinct to call his daddy and beg him to come get him and fix everything has been completely numbed to the level of wistful transient thought. Really glad. Because he can handle this without having any more freakouts in the bathroom. Because even though yesterday had been full of surprises and tension, today was game day.

And he could handle game day.

It's almost afternoon when he hears the sound of a car pulling up out front. The doors and windows are more or less all open, letting in the forest's scents. He suspects it's a thing with the Hales. Not that he minds. It smells nice. And it makes it easy to hear the approaching vehicle. He sets the book carefully back in the box and goes to investigate - which is quite possibly horribly stupid since he's pretty much a defenseless human without even so much as the mysterious-McCall-bat at hand. (he should really get them a machete, if only for alliteration purposes). But it's not one of the big trucks or SUVs Mara's gang had favored. In fact it sounds familiar so he strides out onto the porch.

The sight of Scott, however, has his entire equilibrium shifting and then dumping onto the floor like the contents of a dinner-table pulled down with the tablecloth. It's really hard to compartmentalize when people don't stay in their damn compartments. Scott steps out of his mom's borrowed car, canvas bag in his hands. He waves with a cheery smile that Stiles can't even begin to return.

"Deaton sent me over with this," Scott says, walking over and handing him the bag. "He was really upset. But he wouldn't talk to me, he just told me to come here," he says, looking somewhat concerned and confused. He glances around at the Hale house, sniffing slightly. He can probably smell the scents of the other wolves all around, maybe more than is normal. Actually if he were to smell Stiles he would _really_ know something was up which… Scott's frown deepens.

"Yeah, he's kinda gotta follow the rules," Stiles says with a grimace as he starts tugging at the ties on the canvas satchel in curiosity. They're tied tight and his nerves make it hard to get his fingers steady enough to open them. He swipes a hand over his mouth in frustration and just grips the bag in his fist, staring at it.

"Stiles?" 

Stiles sniffs and flicks his eyes over his friend. "M-hm?" he replies tightly, hand tapping against his hip. God he was really going to have to get better at this if he was ever planning on keeping things from Scott again. He was a lot better at lying to other people.

"Why are you _here_?" Scott asks, eyebrows coming down sharply. "I mean, even Deaton knew you were here."

Stiles shrugs, leg jiggling with nervous energy. He doesn't really meet Scott's eyes. He kind-of wishes his best friend would leave. The reminder of the outside world is hard to bear in contrast with all the work he's put into their strategizing and utilitarian ruthlessness. 

"Stiles, what is going on?" he demands, putting his hands on Stiles's shoulders and ducking his head to grab Stiles's gaze. 

The last twenty-four hours run through his head in a rush. Mara's pack and their threats. Finding Derek and Peter waiting for him to bring the bad news. Having Deaton confirm they were out of options. Learning all about werewolf mating rituals. Starting a sort of mating ritual of his own with Derek, alone in his bedroom. Making _promises_. Like secret fucking wedding vows. His mouth works over words that don't come. He can't explain any of it. He doesn't even know how to start. His heart is pounding, and he knows Scott can hear it given the look of concern growing on his face.

"Come on buddy, what's…,"

"Shit," Stiles blurts, surging forward the rest of the way into Scott's arms. As always, Scott's arms wrap around him without any hesitation at all, true and sure of their friendship. He holds him and it's not until he hears Scott shushing him gently that he realizes that he's babbling out the story in a disjointed rambling rush. He gulps it all back, squeezing his eyes shut, willing himself not to cry.

"You smell like Derek," Scott says quietly. "Like, a _lot_. Like you've… Stiles, I don't understand. Please help me understand."

But Stiles can't. He can't explain. He can't do anything but hug his best friend and try not to shake.

"Hey. What is going on?" Scott demands again, but Stiles can tell that this time he's not speaking to him. He pulls back but doesn't even have to turn his head to know that Derek is standing behind him on the porch. Not with the way Scott's body-language changes and his… awareness of Derek's presence settles in his chest. He turns anyway blinking back tears.

Derek doesn't answer for a long moment, then glances at Stiles with concern and something else. Question? He realizes that Derek's waiting for him. Waiting for his go-ahead. That right there is mind-blowing. That their lives would continue to be so entangled that they would defer to each other sometimes before acting or speaking. Because they were going to be mates. He stops in his tracks, frozen.  
In just a few hours they were going to be starting the ceremony to become _mates_. 

Stiles looks over at Scott, and suddenly he realizes that he doesn't want him here. He doesn't want him to get involved and take part in the ritual and to see… The others he can handle. They really had only become his friends _after_ they were wolves. It was the only way he saw them. But Scott… 

He shakes his head and walks back up to the porch. Back to Derek. He looks up at him with a wordless plea for… he's not sure what. Derek looks at him a moment, then nods, turning his gaze back to Scott.

"Scott. I'm sorry but this is pack business. If you're not going to be part of our pack, you need to leave," Derek says firmly. Taking the blame for him without hesitation. He hadn't meant for him… but he was starting to realize that Derek did that. That he'd load anything onto those broad shoulders of his, even if the burden was too great. 

"No way," Scott says, looking between them in annoyed confusion. "Stiles is _my_ best friend."

"Yeah, buddy, you are. But…," And it hurts, it really hurts realizing that that's no longer going to be the highest-ranking relationship status in his life besides his Dad. And that… yeah. Even his relationship with his Dad is about to become second-string. It's a sobering moment.

"But he's right. It's his pack and he has the right to say what goes," Stiles finishes lamely, unable to put his real thoughts into words.

Scott stares at him in surprise for a long moment, then his eyes narrow and he turns a glare up at the older man with a triumphant lift of his chin. "Stiles isn't pack either."

"Yeah, and that's the whole problem," Derek replies, voice going sharp with annoyance, not giving an inch as he crosses his arms. He doesn't offer any other explanation and Scott looks at him like he's lost his mind. Derek just looks back with raised eyebrows and firm chin.

Scott folds his arms and his eyes narrow. They stare each other down for a long moment, both of them with their stupidest most stubborn faces on. It's kind-of ridiculous. And flattering actually but yeah, mostly ridiculous. Stiles is starting to re-think his impulsive decision to cut Scott out. He takes a half-step forward offering a consoling wince. After all, Scott's going to find out eventually. Why not now? It had just been the shock of- 

Abruptly Scott is surging forward to reach for Stiles, "Come on dude, let's go talk-"

In the span of his blink Stiles finds himself hauled back behind a couple hundred pounds of furious Alpha werewolf, snarl and fangs and the whole shebang. Scott goes flying back several feet from the force of Derek's shove, tumbling ass-over-teakettle till he rolls out of it into a crouch, eyes and teeth flashing up at them. Derek's growling, voice low and warning. Protective to the max.

"What the hell!" Scott snaps. Understandable. Not knowing that Derek considered Stiles his mate it would look really strange.

Abruptly Scott's face goes dark with a furious anger. "Did you _bite_ him? God-damnit Derek did you _turn_ him?" he shouts against the crescendo of Derek's growls. He tenses, claws rending the earth like he's about to leap forward and wrest Stiles from Derek's grasp by force.

"Scott, stop," Stiles shouts, stumbling forward to throw a hand onto Derek's arm before he can lunge forward either.

"Just stop," he says, voice breaking over the word. He can barely handle the fact that they're going up against a hostile pack, but the idea of his friends fighting against each other? No. That he will not have.

"He hasn't given me the bite. It's not that. But it's… shit it's just really complicated," he says. Derek's hands are tight on his upper arms, like he's grounding himself or keeping Stiles from moving forward or preparing to move him to cover again. He doesn't even fight it. In fact he leans into it.

Scott's just looking hurt and confused as the wolf fades from his countenance and he shakes his hair out again. He watches wide-eyed as Derek rests his forehead against Stiles's shoulder, breath brushing against his skin as he slowly calms down, hands slipping around Stiles's waist. Scott's mouth drops open, fingers freezing in his hair when Stiles slides his hands over Derek's in response. Stiles swallows, keeping his gaze and trying to offer him a smile and a shrug. He's sure it goes horribly wrong given the look on Scott's face. 

"So uh… Derek and I are going to be mates," his mouth blurts, desperate to explain away the hurt and confusion on Scott's face. It doesn't help. "Surprise!" he offers weakly, voice cracking over the word. Derek lifts his head an inch only to drop it repeatedly against his shoulder a few more times.

Yeah. That was pretty much how he felt about it too. Stupid mouth.

Scott just stares at him.

"Stiles," he whines like he's not sure if this is some horrible joke or he just doesn't understand or…

"Like I said, it's complicated."

Scott shakes his head, putting his hands to his temples. "Okay. I'm going to go sit on the porch and then you're going to explain this to me. Okay? Okay," he says, turning and pacing by them to go sit heavily on the steps. After a moment Derek lets him go and runs a hand over the back of his neck. 

"I'll just…," he says and jerks his thumb vaguely in the direction of the house and yard.

"Yeah."

After Derek retreats back around the corner of the house, Stiles turns to Scott, who is still sitting with his head in his hands.

"I can't believe you had sex with Derek and didn't even tell me you liked him," Scott blurts.

Stiles pauses mid-step. "Um. That's because I didn't."

Scott glares at him. "You totally did Stiles. I can smell it."

"No I mean… I didn't tell you because I _didn't_ like him. Well. I mean I liked him. Mostly. Just I'd never really thought of him like," he makes some vaguely suggestive gestures with his hands, "like that."

Scott's face pales. "Did he… he didn't _make_ you-,"

"No! No that's not - it was totally my idea. Mostly," he says. Scott just makes a pained look so Stiles groans and turns to flop down on the step next to his best friend. "It's pretty much a really long story."

Scott nods solemnly. "Yeah, I think you'd better start from the beginning."

So he does exactly that, starting with the altercation with Mara's pack. Scott makes suitably comforting noises as he details their threats and then the terms of the ultimatum. The afternoon sun is warm and incongruous with the dark realities of the tale he's telling.

He explains about the rules, about Deaton. About the generalities of werewolf mate-taking. He can't meet Scott's eyes when he explains about the details of the mating ritual, but he does it anyway. He needs to tell _someone_ how terrified he is and it's not like his Dad is a viable option. When he gets done he pushes his hands against his mouth, closing his eyes.

"When is it happening?" Scott asks after a long moment of silence.

"Tonight," Stiles says reluctantly.

"What?" Scott practically shouts, voice going high and upset.

Stiles winces in agreement. "Full moon."

"Uhh, crap. Um… so what should I do? Do I need to do anything? Or. I dunno, bring something?"

"No its…,"

"Maybe I should talk to Derek and figure out what I should-,"

"Scott, dude, I don't want you there," he blurts, slashing his hands through the air in a cutting fashion. 

The silence of the spring air is mockingly sweet as Scott stares at him, eyes wide. Then his face is pulling straight to kicked-puppy, then moving right on to stiff and cold.

"It's just," Stiles tries to explain, "I don't want you to see what's-,"

"Fine," Scott interrupts him. "I get it. I'm not… I'm not part of your pack," he says bitterly.

"Scott, that's not-," Stiles admonishes.

"No whatever dude. It's cool. I should probably go," he says, standing from the porch step and walking away towards his car, sounding unbelievably hurt.

"Scott!" Stiles says, but all he gets is a little wave and then Scott is piling into his mom's car and driving away. 

He doesn't know whether he wants to cry or to kick something more, so he just picks up the discarded canvas bag and turns and shuffles inside.

He hides in the bathroom for a while, trying to marshal his emotions back into order, to shove Scott and his puppy-eyes back into his compartment with Melissa and his Dad and the others where he belongs. Eventually he gathers his equilibrium and splashes a little water on his face before taking the bag out to check if anyone's around. The house is still empty, so he opens the canvas satchel on the kitchen counter. Inside are several carefully folded and ziplocked baggies containing flowers and herbs and small dropper bottles, along with a folded page. He draws the paper out, spreading it open in his hands. 

"He can come, if you want," Derek says awkwardly out of nowhere, and Stiles jerks, dropping the sheet. It glides away sideways, skimming through the air towards the refrigerator where it snaps against the surface, then slides away to the floor. Stiles rolls his eyes as he walks over to pick it up again, setting it back on the counter with the bag before turning a questioning glance on Derek.

"He's not pack, but he's an ally. It's allowed," he offers, looking uncomfortable and concerned. Like he's worried he's messed things up for him and Scott. His arms are crossed over his chest and his head is angled down a little.

Stiles shrugs awkwardly. "Uh. Thanks. He's probably…," totally too mad to come but they'll be fine eventually. He thinks. 

"Anyway thanks."

Derek nods, rubbing a palm against his opposite biceps.

Stiles meanders over to the kitchen table, spreading out the paper from Deaton on the surface as he sits. After a moment, Derek comes to sit beside him, glancing at the page with faint interest but mostly seeming to be interested in just being there near him. Which is nice… comforting, despite the weirdness-factor. And he could really use the comfort right now. God he's getting really sick of all the tension and worry and… Stiles realizes he kind-of really wants to take a nap. Not that he'd be able to sleep in the slightest. He glances assessingly at Derek. Maybe if they took a nap _together_.

"You're back early," Stiles says instead.

Derek looks embarrassed for a moment, flicking a glance at him. "I didn't want you to be here alone…"

Stiles raises an eyebrow at him. Instead of taking offense at the possible implication that he can't protect himself (which okay fine is probably true considering who was out to get him) or acknowledging the flutter that happens in his stomach at the idea that Derek had _missed_ him or something, he deadpans, "I see. I guess there go my plans of running away."

Derek looks genuinely surprised, then there's a flicker of _wounded_ before it resolves into resignation as he considers it.

"Ohmygod I was joking," Stiles says with a groan, slumping back into his chair. Yeah there was _way_ too much seriousness happening right now.

Derek's face goes blank, then he nods, looking down at his hands. He doesn't laugh.

Stiles stares at him, then sighs. Yeah but seriousness was maybe totally in order right now. He reaches out to set his palm against the lightly hairy back of Derek's hand, waiting until the man looks up at him. 

"I meant what I said," Stiles murmurs. "Last night."

The look Derek turns on him is complex, unreadable for a moment before more tenable flickers resolve. Surprise. Relief. Happiness. Then at the sight of Stiles's cheeks reddening the corner of his mouth turns up in a delicious little grin as his lashes lower and his eyes flit over Stiles's face.

And oh. That expression may not have a name exactly but it definitely contains more than a little heat. Oh boy. He could definitely learn to get used to Derek looking at him like that. Eventually.

He clears his throat awkwardly, taking his hand back and using it to smooth the paper out again even though it's perfectly flat already. "So, uh. Where's the pack?" 

"Patrolling. Making sure Mara's people aren't out there. Mostly memorizing the routes for tonight."

Which Derek didn't need to know since he'd be waiting at the endpoint. Shit. Okay. Not thinking about that right now.  
Stiles nods absently, running his fingers over the page and reading the descriptions of the contents. Deaton's neat, elegant handwriting outlines a number of herbs and their uses, as well as instructions for brewing an herbal infusion to drink before the ritual.

To aid in the healing process. Yeah, that wasn't helping. Derek bumps a comforting hand against his shoulder as he stands, then goes over to start brewing some more coffee. 

Would… would it be like that? Him sitting at the kitchen table doing his homework or something in the mornings. Derek making coffee. His Dad was hell-bent on him going to college, but now… yeah maybe that wouldn't exactly work. It wasn't like Derek could follow him off to college. He had the pack and the house and… He didn't know how powerful the pull of this bond was going to be exactly but he had a feeling it wouldn't be good for them to be apart. Even a little bit. Besides, what was the statistic? That if a couple spent their first year of marriage apart for work or something the marriage had like 80% chance of ending in divorce? Yeah. And werewolves didn't do divorce. They did more… death type things.

But really, he hadn't wanted to leave anyway. Sure, it was his senior year so he'd sent off some applications at his dad's badgering insistence. But it seemed like when he'd gotten down to it, each one he'd chosen a different major for, written something random and different for his personal statements, going with the whim of the day, unable to decide. In fact, University of Phoenix was sounding better and better by the day - not to mention the whole mythological reference thing it had going for it.

His phone buzzes with a text, startling him out of his reverie.

_**srry. I kinda freaked. Here 4 U** _

The knot that's been sitting in his chest goes suddenly loose at the words. He sighs and sits back against the chair, scrubbing a hand over his face in relief. He sees Derek glance at him over his shoulder at the change in his demeanor. His phone buzzes again as he's considering his response.

_**We cool?** _

Yeah. And that's how it was with him and Scott. It was really that easy.

 _ **We're cool**_ he sends immediately in response. He really, really needed that to be true.

 _ **Cool.**_ There's a brief pause before he gets _**good luck and stuff**_ too.

Yeah. He could definitely use some of that.

_**thx** _

 

They arrive as the sun is setting. In the remaining hours of the day the pack had gathered, growing more solemn and wary by the moment. They'd eventually taken up positions out on the porch, sitting on the railings or benches or steps, just waiting.

So it's not a surprise when they hear them coming well before they arrive. The tension in the air is thick as the evening winds ripple through the clearing around the house. The SUVs and Trucks roll up in a formation that's eerily reminiscent of a group of hunters - or should he say the way hunters pack up is eerily reminiscent of the wolves.

They're all there, from the looks of it. At least the ones he'd seen that morning. Mara's pack isn't small. There are at least ten of them. An intimidating number to their six. Five and a half, really. 

They slink up all dark good looks and arrogance. They think they have the upper hand here, the right to stab at Derek's pack without fear of retribution. Stiles grinds his teeth in anger but makes himself stay where he is, leaning against the column at the top of the steps, arms crossed. 

Mara stops twenty or so feet away, chin lifting and long-nailed hands tucked into her pockets. Her pack fans out around her in a wedge.  
"Have you made your decision?" Mara asks, calling out to them all arrayed on the porch. 

Derek strides slowly down the steps, exuding power and confidence as only an Alpha can. Then he turns and lifts a hand to Stiles, the corner of his mouth turning up in wicked anticipation. Stiles follows him down, takes his hand. His heart is pounding and everyone can probably hear it but he doesn't care.

"We have," Derek replies, loud enough for everyone to hear. He smiles at her, that terrifying, stunning smile that has her features pinching slightly. Stiles can't help but grin with him.

"Mara, I'd like to introduce you to my betrothed," he says.

Any further words he might have said are cut off by an enraged growl as the woman wolfs-out, eyes flashing red in fury. There's a commotion of surprise among her pack behind her as she bellows, "What?"

Stiles feels a punch of fear, but Derek's already baring his fangs and flashing his eyes with an answering growl. He can feel the pack behind him lurching forward to array at their flanks. For a brief moment he wonders if they're going to come to an explosive conclusion right then and there.

But no one advances against Mara's pack, and none of her pack do more than crowd closer to her. Derek hasn't let go of his hand, though he can feel the claws pressing against his skin.

Peter steps down from the porch, the last to move. He's got a map rolled into a long cylinder and tapping against his shoulder. He strolls insolently slowly, smirking as he carries it forward to the invisible line separating the two packs. He stands at the boundary, hands folded primly before him, waiting with raised eyebrows until Mara glances at one of her Betas and motions them forward. The man steps up to Peter, taking the extended paper.

"As per pack law and ritual," Derek begins, "We will perform the mate-claiming rites under the light of the full moon. The set of acceptable starting positions has been marked on the map. We will expect your emissary to return at moonrise to begin the ritual."

"You can't be serious, Hale," Mara spits around her teeth. "You can't seriously be taking this _human_ as your mate."

Derek just raises his eyebrows as if to say 'why the fuck not?'

"You'd destroy your pack, over _him_?" she says, gesturing angrily at Stiles.

Derek tilts his head back in a little bob, a musing expression on his face as he glances down at Stiles. "I think she's underestimating you," he says to Stiles like she's not standing just eight feet away. 

Stiles sniffs and buffs his nails against his shirt. "It's been known to happen. I'm talented like that."

The outsider growls.

"It's certainly sooner than I'd have liked," Derek says to Mara, "But your strategy has failed. Stiles was my intended mate all along. I guess that's how it goes," he says with a dismissive shrug.

"Basically, what he means is; yipee-ki-yay motherfuckers," Stiles spits at the outside pack.

Mara lets out a howl of rage, claws flashing and skin shaded the color of dried blood in the light of the setting sun. "We'll kill you," she shouts at Stiles. "We'll kill you before you ever reach him!"

Some of her pack snarls in agreement, but others work to soothe and nudge her along back down the road, knowing the battle has been lost and that a retreat is in order. Eventually she shoves them off angrily and turns, storming back down to the trucks again.

Peter's snickering, holding a hand over his mouth and shoulders shaking as he tries to contain his laughter.

"Roger that, McClane," he says, shaking his head as he walks back towards them. 

"Hey it's a classic," Stiles argues, pointing a finger at him.

"I don't get it," Isaac whispers to Boyd as the pack coalesces around them and Stiles groans. 

"Seriously that is unacceptable," he says to the Betas. He glares facetiously up at Derek, high on the residual adrenaline. "What do you _teach_ these puppies?"

Derek huffs a laugh. "Clearly all the wrong things."

But the nervous joking energy dissipates with the wind.

"What did she mean?" Stiles asks in the silence, leaning into the comforting arm that Derek has curled around his shoulder.

Derek shakes his head, frowning as he looks back at Peter. 

"We won't let that happen," the older man says firmly.

"I kind of have a problem with the fact that it's even a possibility," Stiles says and Derek nods.

Peter sighs. "It's an old interpretation of the law, but one that gets held up when challenged. The packs can counter-hunt you while you hunt Derek. They'll have to contend with us, though," he says, gesturing at the pack. "And we know the land. We won't let it happen," he repeats.

Stiles scowls. More stock for ye olde library of Shit-The-Hales-Aren't-Telling. 

"I wasn't sure," Derek mutters like he can hear Stiles's thoughts. Or more likely read his face.

"Okay how is that fair, they seriously outnumber us right now."

Peter shrugs. "Life-,"

"Ohmygod if you say 'life isn't fair' or any variation thereof I'm going to punch you," Stiles blurts.

Peter just smirks, flicking his eyebrows up in acknowledgement. "That’s why you cheat."

Stiles doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. Of course Peter would say that.

Derek looks at him in dismay. 

"Nothing much. Just… a few of Stiles's things placed strategically to throw them off the scent. And some really rude lines of cinnamon and nutmeg. Sorry. We'll have to get more before you can make French-toast again," he says, offering a sympathetic face to Derek.

Stiles really, really hates how convincing Peter is with his stupid face. And kind-of loves him for it at the same time.

"I have like a gallon of each in the pantry," Derek says with a shrug.

"Not anymore," Peter replies in a slightly singsong voice.

Stiles laughs. Because it's so much better than crying. "Do I even want to know which things of mine - yeah, no, nevermind…," Stiles says when Peter just angles his head and turns a _look_ on him.

"Okay, okay. Shit, let's get back on task then," he says, throwing up his hands and marching up the front steps back to the house to grab their copy of the map and lay it out under the light of the porch since the sun has just dipped below the horizon.

He talks them through the plan, himself this time, because teaching something makes you learn it way better than just listening, right? The Betas seem glad of the distraction, and even Peter stays nearby to lend support, even if he hardly pays attention. He does point out the trap locations to the pack when asked, just in case.

Then there's nothing left to do but wait. And that really sucks. They all meander around the porch, tight with nervous energy and trying to relax. When he glances over, Derek's fiddling with his phone as they wait. As soon as Stiles walks over, however, he powers off the screen and pockets it, offering him a tense smile. He only caught a glimpse of the screen. The contact just says "M". Melissa maybe? Was he taking Peter's advice and bringing her out in case Stiles is going to need medical attention that can't be taken to the real-world docs in the ER?

He kind-of doesn't want to think of that. So he just sits down next to Derek on the bench and studiously turns his gaze down to the map in front of him. Eventually Derek glances up at the moon glimmering through the trees on the horizon. He sets a gentle hand on Stiles's shoulder. "It's time," he says quietly, then stands. Stiles follows him as he walks down the porch steps onto the path.

"Time to go," he says with more volume, looking back at his pack. The three teenagers nod and move forward to squeeze Stiles's shoulders in passing as they move further out into the yard. They start peeling off their clothes and tossing them up onto the porch railing. Peter disappears into the house, staying back as their emissary. 

Derek is the last to move, and he steps close to Stiles, touching his shoulders. Stiles looks up at him, blinking against the brightness of the moon coming up over the trees. Totally that. Not tears. Then Derek is stroking his hands up to cup Stiles's jaw. He leans forward to press a kiss to his lips, then rests his forehead against Stiles's.

"We'll get through this," he says. "I believe in you."

Stiles cracks a grin against the emotions fighting in his chest. "I'd say the same, dude. But everyone knows werewolves aren't real."

It takes a moment, but then the slow smile turns into a full-blown grin. It stays there as Derek steps away and trots over to join the others, hauling his shirt over his head as he goes. 

Stiles watches, standing in the driveway as they start assuming their wolf forms. The transformation to Were seems to be the easy part. But then Derek growls and curls over himself as his body suddenly stretches and bends in impossible ways till he falls to all fours, groaning and pulling until he's distinctly wolf-shaped. It looks really fucking painful and insanely awesome at the same time. 

He gives himself a full-body shake, thick black fur rippling and shimmering in the reflected moonlight. He turns his head back to Stiles and his eyes are a deep, familiar red. 

"Wow," Stiles mutters.

Wolf-Derek makes a pleased little yip in response, but then turns his attention back to his Betas who are struggling more with the change. A lot more. But it's coming, slowly and surely. Boyd ends up a large and lanky reddish-grey wolf. Erica a broad-shouldered, thick-maned speckled dark grey. Isaac a sleek and creamy brown. All their eyes flash gold as they yip and whine, bounding around the clearing on four feet. They trot over, and Stiles realizes suddenly how much larger than regular wolves they are. Derek is especially big, a full hand taller than the rest, head almost to Stiles's waist. He squats a little to let them brush against him and lick at his face, and then they're swirling away again and out towards the trees.

He watches them go, watches them fade into the night. Sees the red flash of Derek's eyes one last time as the wolf looks back for him before he disappears for good.

Peter is sitting calmly on the porch steps when he turns, though Stiles catches his wistful glance after the others as he walks back up towards the house. 

"Uh. Thanks," he says, drawing the man's surprised attention.

"For all your help. And for staying with me. I know…," he trails off, gesturing at the long-gone pack. "Thanks."

Peter smiles, and it's a soft, genuine smile. Probably. Then he nods and resumes his guard as Stiles turns to make his way back inside, to finish preparing. 

He goes into the kitchen and lays out the various herbs Deaton had sent him. He takes the cranesbill root and the yarrow flower and places them in a tea ball, supposedly to help stop blood-loss. He adds the sweet clover and Kava Kava leaves to relax the body and dull the inevitable pain. A few drops of teasel root tincture. And finally, a tiny amount of wolf's-bane as a guard against the small chance that Derek will lose control and give him 'the bite'. 

A werewolf prophylactic. 

He brews the tea carefully, staying focused on the mechanics of it and avoiding thinking of things to come. As he waits for it to cool, he steels himself and takes the last item Deaton had packed for him.

Silicone lubricant.

Doc really thought of everything, didn't he? But Stiles is grateful. Anything that makes this easier will be… yeah. 

He takes it to the bathroom with him, along with the borrowed pair of running shorts from Derek's dresser. Stripping down is done quickly with methodical motions, trying not to listen to the silence. He spreads some of the gel on his fingers, then slowly reaches back to press it against his entrance. He hesitates, but there really isn't much time left, so he wills himself continue. He slips one finger in, rubbing the gel around. And that's not so bad, after all, he'd done similar a number of times in the shower just to see what it was like. And the gel makes it easier. The hard part comes when he has to add a second finger. It hurts a little, but not much and he goes slowly. After a while he feels brave enough to add a third, knowing he'll need even more than that to properly prepare but struggling to go any further. 

He's shaking with the effort of holding himself up against the sink and reaching at the awkward angle. He adds one last thick smear of lubricant along the crease of his buttocks, then shimmies into the running shorts, trying to ignore the strange feeling of being wet and slick underneath. He ditches his shirt and everything else but his running shoes, washes his hands and his face, and makes his way back to the kitchen.

He takes the tea out to the porch to drink it and wait. He doesn't speak, and neither does Peter. They just wait till they can hear the sound of a truck approaching in the distance. Well, Peter hears it long before he does, but he knows well enough to gulp down the rest of the slightly bitter tea and stand after Peter does. 

"Showtime," Peter says, a lethal edge to his voice as he peels off his shirt and drops his track pants, leaving him completely naked in a matter of moments. They would present a strange picture if the occupant of the truck were anyone but a werewolf, a man and a teenage boy with nothing more than a pair of running shorts and two shoes between them. 

The truck pulls up to a stop at the edge of the clearing, the lights casting a bright light up at them and the house for a moment before they cut out with the engine. There's a momentary delay, then the door opens. The man who gets out of the truck is just as naked as Peter, so clearly it's a thing. He marches over, looking around him warily, listening for signs of an ambush. 

Peter points to the map laid out on the ground nearby and the guy steps over to it, glaring down at it with his hands fisted on his hips.

Stiles is too busy concentrating on not being sick.

The guy looks it over and nods. Then he approaches Stiles. Peter lets him, though it looks like it bothers him to do so. He maintains the same level of proximity to Stiles as the outsider, however, and Stiles gets the feeling that he's prepared to move at the slightest provocation to protect him.

"Let's go," Peter says.

The guy sniffs as though disinterested and turns, moving towards the treeline at a jog. Peter raises his eyebrows at Stiles in question. Stiles ducks his head in a nod, then picks up a jog after him. Peter falls into line behind him, keeping an equal distance again. The guy sets a steady jogging pace, which Stiles is able to fall into, a familiar casual run. It's a little harder to actually do the navigating portion of the running, since he lacks the night-vision of his two companions, but the moon is bright and eventually his eyes adjust all the way so that he sees the dark shapes of branches and trees more easily. His throat feels frozen with the cooling night air and the stillness of the waiting. He knows there are sounds around them but he can't really seem to hear anything at all.

They run for a while, he's not sure how long, but eventually the guy starts to slow. Peter passes Stiles and goes to growl at the guy. They argue for a minute or two over the exact location, but Stiles thinks it's mostly ceremony. There are only so many places along the line between the outsider pack and Derek. It won't make much difference, really.

They stop, and Stiles tries to focus on the mundane. Jogging in place, loosening his limbs and muscles. Stretching his core. Standard lacrosse warm-ups. He makes sure he has his orientation, knowing where the moon should be, where Derek should be relative to the way they'd come. He doesn't let himself get turned around. It would be easy to do. But it could be vital, so he keeps his head pointed north-west at all times. Towards Derek.

Every minute that passes adds another skip to his pulse. He's so unbelievably nervous, but he's reached a sort of level past the point of where he can actually feel it. After all, he's used to stuffing away that panicked feeling weighing heavy in his chest, shaping it down enough that it's almost bearable. So he can still run and do and think (mostly) - at least enough to survive.

In the meantime, the two male Weres are facing off, posturing at each other in slow, rotating arcs around Stiles. They are his guards, his jailers and his protectors. For once, Stiles is desperately glad to have Peter there, with his experience and his control. They're beautiful, lithe in the moonlight, all bared skin and rippling muscles. Peter comes to stand next to Stiles, completely comfortable in his nudity. The other werewolf moves closer too, but Stiles does his best to ignore him.

"It's almost time," Peter says, looking at him with what looks like genuine compassion.

Stiles nods jerkily. His hands hover at the waistband of his running shorts, but he hesitates.

"You should take them off," Peter says quietly. "It'll be easier."

But the smug look on the other guy's face, and yeah, he's the one who had called dibs on Stiles's ass… it's too much for him to handle right then. He shrugs, and wraps his arms across his bared chest, giving himself an awkward half-hug. He wishes Scott were here. He wishes his…

He feels a shift in the air, an energy that tells him the moon is truly full. Peter stiffens beside him and they both lift their faces to stares up at its luminous white form, reflecting down on him in his pathetic state. 

There's a long, lone howl. Deep, reverberating, and familiar. It's Derek. It's far away but Stiles knows the sound the Alpha makes. 

He's supposed to go to him. To race through the woods in search of his mate. He's supposed to run but he's frozen. A flicker of panic runs through him, urging him to run away from it all, but he curls his fists against it and crushes it ruthlessly.

"Stiles. Run," Peter says, stepping past him to face off with the other man, growling as he rolls his head and flicks out his claws. The chorus of distant howls picks up, familiar and strange alike, echoing through the woods in a haunting cacophony. Peter looks like he's desperately trying not to join in. "Run!" he bellows as he begins his transformation. The Were across from him is already starting, growling at him as he falls to half-formed paws.

Stiles runs.

There's a snarl and a yip behind him as Peter and the other face off, smashing into the ground. 

For once it's not the blind panicked rush of trying to escape some unknown assailant. He knows what's coming. He knows but it probably doesn't make it any less terrifying. At first it's just the terrible sound of his breath, rushing through his lungs and the snap and swish of bushes and twigs under his feet. He should have worn running tights, he thinks, given the little cuts that steadily accumulate on the skin of his legs. He's leaving a blood trail for them to follow.

But then he laughs, a hysterical little huff beneath his gasping breaths. They'd be harder to get off when… when Derek…

And who cares about a blood trail. The noise, the stink of fear on him. It's more than enough. Derek's howl sounds again, echoing through the woods, bouncing off trees. It's hard to pinpoint but Stiles does his best, running in the direction his gut tells him it comes from. 

His heart feels like it's going to explode. He wants to puke, to fall over and empty his stomach even though it's already empty except for the tea. But he runs. He runs because he can't stop running. He runs because he needs to find Derek first. No matter how much that terrifies him, being torn apart or raped to death by the other pack or… even if they were just to turn him and take him away… it would be worse. What it would do to his Dad, to the pack. 

To Derek.

His lungs are burning, his obliques tightening too much with the sustained effort. It's too much. He's pushing too hard. 

He doesn't stop.

Before long he hears the howling and calling of Betas moving closer. Unfamiliar howls. Derek's pack, _his_ pack is silent in the night, using their stealth and knowledge of the terrain to their advantage. He knows it but he wishes he had the comfort of their voices. He can feel the wolves in the wild around him, coming at him from all around. Then, suddenly, it's too close. He sees flashes of rich brown and glowing yellow eyes. He stumbles, cracking his shoulder hard into a small tree as the eyes near.

But they're eyes he knows. He may never have seen them in this form, but he'd know those eyes anywhere.

As he rights himself Scott comes charging out of the night, shifting in a scatter of claws till he's running alongside him. He tosses his head as an invitation to follow as he shifts course slightly. Whatever humiliation he might feel knowing that Scott is here is not enough to outweigh his relief and his self-preservation. He follows, plunging along a route that is almost a path. Scott doesn't howl, but before long Peter is there too, then finally the others. 

His _pack_. 

All of them. It's right, because while Scott isn't Derek's pack, he _is_ part of Stiles's. Erica lets out a warble of pleasure that's echoed softly by the others. The outsiders haven't made it. He's going to beat them, his pack running in a ring around him. Protecting him.

The outsider howls still draw nearer, rougher. He can hear the low grumble of Mara's Alpha howl further back, coming closer now that it's clear Stiles won't be seeking her benevolence. Then he can see them, the others there too, strange wolves, howling and snapping at his pack. He lets out a shout of frustration as he puts on another burst of speed. And suddenly, he's stumbling out into a clearing. The trees fade back from him and straight ahead is a huge black wolf, eyes glowing red in the night. His heart jerks, adrenaline flooding his body even more than he thought possible.

Derek throws his head back and _howls_ , the sound reverberating through the night, enough to send unfriendly and friendly wolves alike scampering back into the perimeter of the trees, leaving the clearing to them.

Stiles makes it halfway into the clearing before he stumbles, then falls, tears already streaming on his face as Derek charges toward him. He tries to scramble to his feet but he's already being swarmed with massive weight and heat and fur and the sharp nip of teeth. The hot wet smear of saliva. The cool press of mud from ground that's been pawed and trampled with pent-up energy. He boxes Stiles in, hovering over him in a mass of heat and fur and explosive energy - then Derek howls again and it's shattering. It drowns out everything, even the panicked beat of Stiles's heart. It vibrates him apart.

Derek paws at him, leaving muddy streaks and scratches across his chest, his legs. He has to- he tries to roll over, but one huge paw slams into the center of his chest, pinning him back to the ground in a submissive position accompanied by a low growl. It takes everything to overcome his own instincts which scream at him to fight, to curl protectively over his exposed throat and belly. But he does it. He makes himself go limp, makes himself loll his head all the way back though he's dizzy and the earth is cold. Makes himself expose his throat to his Alpha.

His Alpha.

Stiles is gasping, choking back sobs, trying to keep his breath. Derek lets out a short yip of triumph. Then he steps back slightly, nosing his muzzle down to Stiles's groin, pushing hard against his soft dick, huge breaths fluttering the fabric as he snuffles. His teeth nip at the waistband and his toes drag at the thigh. Stiles reaches down as submissively as possible and helps, pushing the cloth down over his hips, baring him completely to the night. He should have just run naked, he should have-

Derek's wolf-tongue lolls out and laves over his bared skin, stroking a huge hot path over his inner thighs and groin. Stiles gasps out a moan between still-heaving breaths. It's too much sensation, all slamming into him at once. Derek licks him again, and again, covering him in his saliva, in his scent. And taking in Stiles's own taste, his own scent. 

He licks his cock and his thighs and his face and his belly and then nudges his thighs wider to lick his balls, and then the opening behind them. Stiles wonders what it says about him that he's hard, he's so hard by the time Derek lifts his head and paws at his hip, urging him to turn onto his belly.

The sounds of the scuffles on the outskirts of the clearing are growing louder, more insistent. Derek is taking too long to mount him, Stiles realizes. And the Alpha seems to sense it too. He tips his head back and howls his challenge back at the wolves. Stiles struggles onto his hands and knees, bits of forest detritus sticking to his belly and his cock where the saliva has left them sticky.  
Derek growls, rearing up and closing his teeth over Stiles's shoulder. He bites, hard enough to hurt, to break the skin and leave blood running, but not deep enough to turn him. Mounting him. Forcing him into submission.

Stiles doesn't bother to try and stifle the cry that tumbles from his lips at the pain. Derek responds by putting a paw in the middle of his back and shoving him face-first into the dirt. 

Just like the drawing. 

And just like the human in the drawing, Stiles is crying now, with gasping sobs. Derek growls, and Stiles can feel the hot, wet tip of his tapered wolf penis brushing against his body, bumping and dragging its way down until it's settling against the pucker of his slickened anus. With a growl, Derek starts to push. His forepaws scrabble back against Stiles's hips as he arches his chest down tight to his back and curls his angular fur-covered head against Stiles's shoulderblades with low whining whimpers. He pushes and pushes and though it's probably slower than his instincts are demanding it's not slow enough. It's huge, like the wolf/man it belongs to. It just keeps spreading Stiles wider and wider until he's sobbing with the pain of it. 

Finally, after what seems like an eternity and a half, Derek is completely inside of him. He can barely see, though whether that's his consciousness fading or merely the way his face is shoved into the dirt. The latter, probably, since he can feel the soft, velvety weight of Derek's balls brushing against his own smaller human ones - though the pain is dizzying enough to cause the former. 

He has only the merest moment to catch his breath before Derek's repositioning his feet and arching back to howl, long and loud and triumphant. And then he's moving. He's pushing his hips slowly back and forth, inch by inch until the length of him is slipping fast and loose through Stiles's opening, till he can feel the blood running down pre-slickened trails of saliva on his thighs and the nerve-numbing mixture of pain and endorphins flooding his body. He's gruffling, huffing against his neck.

It doesn't take long, thankfully. At least he thinks it doesn't. He's not sure he has a sense of time anymore. Derek is lost to his instincts. He fucks him, tears into him with relentless, desperate need. His body starts tensing, the strokes less smooth. There's further, impossible swelling inside of him. Stiles experiences it almost like a disconnected sensation, something he knows is happening but can't really feel anymore. Then Derek slams into him, arching his back, and throwing back his head and howling.

He can feel the rippling pulses up the length of Derek's penis, feel the eruptions at the tip, deep inside his body as the voluminous fluid smears into him. The other wolves join in, carrying the howl through it to the end. All Stiles can do is gasp for breath.

The knot is tight inside him, pressing against his prostate as Derek shifts his weight. Stiles sobs out a broken whimper. He's still hard, he realizes belatedly, despite the pain. He doesn't even really understand how it's possible. Just some physiological reaction his body has to the assault, to the indescribable sensation of an organ sliding against his prostate.

It's over, but it isn't. They have to wait now, wait for Derek's knot to go down as a completion of the mating bond. He can hear the yip and the scuffle of the wolves on the outskirts of the clearing and he's suddenly glad that Scott is there to help the others. He doesn't want anyone to get hurt on his behalf. Mara's pack will surely be bent on what little petty revenge they can exact within the confines of the ceremony. He bites back a laugh because he understands now how awesome it really is that her pack has been forced into a non-aggression pact with them. After this she won't be able to get back at them at all or risk her whole pack to others of Deaton's ilk.

Derek shifts his weight again and Stiles gasps through the discomfort. The whimper that Derek lets out at his pain is a nice change from the rough and wild responses that had come before. He feels Derek's wet nose bump along his back, then his tongue slips out to lap at the blood pooling on his shoulder where he'd bitten him. 

He feels his dick start to soften, but abruptly he realizes that makes it all worse, the pain without the pleasure. The fact that he's impaled on Derek's cock and not even able to somehow take something from it for himself. He reaches a shaky hand between his legs and touches a muddy hand to his groin, stroking slowly along the length of himself. The heaving of Derek's breath against his back is enough to shift them slightly, enough to have Stiles moaning again as he feels the pressure of the knot inside him again. He strokes his hand more firmly, bringing his flagging erection back to life. 

The pack is still fighting out in the clearing, and he can't see far enough in the dark to know what's happening. He can barely see more than a few feet away the way he's sprawled forward. It's beyond surreal to be jerking himself off while mounted by an Alpha werewolf, by _Derek_ in the middle of a clearing on a full moon while his pack fights to protect him. But he's going to do it anyway.

After a moment, Derek seems to notice the change, tilting his head slightly so that his fur brushes against the muscles that are moving in Stiles's arm. He whuffles a breath against Stiles's back, dragging his nose over his skin, scenting his arousal. After a moment he shifts his hips experimentally, just a fraction, and it has Stiles gasping out another moan. He doesn't bring himself off, not yet, because he knows the comedown will be far more painful than the tantalizing denial of his own orgasm. He slows his hand until the urge to spill over fades.

It continues like this for several long minutes, Derek shifting just enough to test the knot, to bring a little added stimulation to Stiles as he strokes and pulls on his blood and mud-smeared sex. Derek laves his back with long hot licks and possessive little nips that keep him shuddering and hard up against his edge.

Eventually, some ten or so minutes later, the knot slips out of him when Derek shifts his hips. But Derek doesn't pull out all the way, he rocks his hips again, and again, as Stiles picks up his pace, sharp and desperate. After all the teasing it doesn't take more than a couple pulls before he's stiffening and clamping down uncontrollably around Derek, groaning his way over the peak of his release. 

But as he exhales, it's like all the gears of the universe grind to a halt. He's breathless, frozen at the peak. He doesn't know if it's the endorphins, or the herbs, or something more mystical, but for a moment, everything seems weightless and transparent. There's only moonlight in his vision. He can hear nothing but the beat of his and Derek's hearts, pounding in counterpoint. His mate.

_His mate_

He gasps in his breath again and everything falls back into place, the planet starts spinning again and the howls and yips reverberate once more and the rushing huff of Derek's heaving animal breaths tingle on his skin as Derek draws carefully back till they are separated once more. 

For a long moment Stiles isn't even sure he's capable of moving. But after a few deep breaths he pushes at the ground with shaking arms until he can stretch his body out enough to roll onto his side. Standing is out of the question, but at least he's managed to put a stop to the whole downward-dog thing. Derek's moving around slowly, probably focused on putting his family jewels away, eyes sharp on the edge of the clearing. He howls, sharp and short, and soon the pack starts to appear from the trees, closing in around them in a slow defensive spiral, watching the outsider pack as they do.

The outsiders slink out of the trees as well, wary and, in some cases, limping. Stiles feels a heady surge of pride. As their pack forms a tight protective ring around them, Derek starts to transform back to human. 

When it's done he stands, powerful, naked, bloody and smeared with dirt, gazing hard at the outside Alpha. The heat of his body steams in the cooling night air making an already supernatural moment ethereal. He waits, expectantly.

After a moment, Mara begins change, her almost indigo fur matte against the moonlight where Derek's had shown silver. The wolf retreats from her smoothly, and then she too is standing with her pack, gazing at him.

"I've taken this human as my mate," Derek calls to her. "And you have been witness. The right of containment has been upheld."

His voice is thick and raw and powerful, reverberating in the clearing.

"You are hereby bound to a non-aggression status with the Hale pack and it's allies for the duration of ten years."

Mara's eyes are cold and sanguine as she glares at him, lithe body taut with perfectly honed muscles and fury.

"Do you acknowledge these facts?" Derek asks.

There's a pause, but the woman knows when she's been defeated. She lifts her chin and says nothing but a simple "Yes."

Stiles feels a surge of euphoria as Derek's chin lifts in triumph. He screws up enough strength to flip his middle finger up at the woman, grinning as her eyes flash. 

"Good," Derek says, eyes flashing red and fangs and claws growing apparent as he snarls out a growl and roars, "Now get the _hell_ off my land." 

She lifts her hands in surrender and walks backwards towards the tree-line, wolves circling and running with and around her. 

"Yeah, Bitch," Stiles mutters, hand falling limply back to the dirt.

Derek watches until they disappear. Only then does he turn and look down at Stiles, fear and pain spreading across his features as he kneels down beside him. 

But Stiles understands. Really he does. Being a werewolf isn't something gentle. It's fierce and vital and bloody. Primal. Pure. He gets that now. 

"Hey," he says. It comes out cracked and broken and Derek cringes, setting a shaking hand against his cheek.

"Hey," Derek whispers in reply.

Suddenly his pain begins to lessen. Derek's face is pinched with the effort of drawing out his pain, but he's so, so grateful for it. He sighs in relief, fingers curling around Derek's wrist.

The pack circles closer, but they stay a respectful distance, none of them leaving their wolf form lest Mara's pack returns. Derek's just staring at his naked body, at the blood and dirt and lacerations.

"Derek?" 

His mate looks down at him, face looking like his soul is bared on it, starkly lit in the moonlight.

"Let's go home," Stiles whispers.

Derek swallows, then nods, eyes tightening over a broken smile. He cradles him gently in his arms, lifting his bloodied and battered form to curl against his chest. 

It's a long walk, but he knows they'll make it.

  
  
 **Howl (Florence + the Machine)**  
  
 _If you could only see_  
 _The beast you've made of me_  
 _I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free_  
 _Screaming in the dark_  
 _I howl when we're apart_  
 _Drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart_

_My fingers claw your skin_  
 _Try to tear my way in_  
 _You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to howl_  
 _My fingers claw your skin_  
 _Try to tear my way in_  
 _You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to_

_Howl, howl_  
 _Howl, howl_

_Now there's no holding back_  
 _I'm making to attack_  
 _My blood is singing with your voice, I want to pour it out_  
 _The saints can't help me now_  
 _The ropes have been unbound_  
 _I hunt for you with bloody feet across the hallowed ground_

_Like some child possessed_  
 _The beast howls in my veins_  
 _I want to find you, tear out all of your tenderness_

_And howl, howl_  
 _Howl, howl_

_Be careful of the curse_  
 _That falls on your lovers_  
 _Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters_  
 _Hunters, hunters, hunters_  
 _Hunters, hunters, hunters_

_The fabric of your flesh_  
 _Pure as a wedding dress_  
 _Until I wrap myself inside your arms I cannot rest_  
 _The saints can't help me now_  
 _The ropes have been unbound_  
 _I hunt for you with bloody feet across the hallowed ground_

_And howl_

_Be careful of the curse_  
 _That falls on your lovers_  
 _Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters_

_A man who's pure of heart_  
 _And says his prayers by night_  
 _May still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright_

_If you could only see_  
 _the beast you've made of me_  
 _I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free_  
 _The saints can't help me now_  
 _The ropes have been unbound_  
 _I hunt for you with bloody feet across the hallowed ground_  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ["I'd say the same, dude. But everyone knows werewolves aren't real."](http://trilliath.tumblr.com/post/44822500332/everyone-knows-werewolves-arent-real-an)


	6. Epilogue

It starts as a pack dinner. One which everyone in the know gets invited to. Maybe Derek notices it's the anniversary of their bond, maybe he even has something special in mind for them that night. He'd certainly been secretive about something he'd been carrying earlier that week. Maybe he pouted a little when Stiles announced the feast, but wasn't Stiles a good little alpha, celebrating his pack on such a date? And after all, their first wedding anniversary was still six-months-to-the-day in the future. They'd celebrate that alone.

So Derek resigns himself to hosting a party. He even enjoys the cooking with the Betas, despite the playful glowering. And it's good, so good to have the house filled to bursting again with happy people and wine and food and celebration. He's relaxed. And his Dad is relaxed and happy. And everyone is relaxed and happy. Derek's genuine, open smiles are beyond precious to Stiles, the best anniversary gift he could get. 

But after the appetizers have been served, Stiles stands. He loves the way he still draws Derek's gaze any time he moves. Loves the way Derek's eyes dip to the open neck of his crisp dress-shirt but then settle on his eyes. And he grins at the way Derek's eyes shift the instant his pack starts to rise as well in unspoken accord. The humans start to fall silent, most of them looking around with mixtures of amusement and curious interest. Some knew, some didn't. That was fine. They'd figure it out or remain safe in their cultural naiveté. 

"Come on, Derek," he says softly, drawing his mate's attention again. He flicks his eyebrows up in invitation and tilts his head towards the door before he turns and starts walking, leaving his food and wine behind. As he passes out of the dining room and into the quieter space of the living room he shrugs his suit jacket off and tosses it on one of the armchairs. On his way to the door he starts in on his belt, which he loops around the bannister.

"Stiles?"

He smirks as he kicks his shoes off near the door, peeling his socks off to follow, ignoring his lover's query. The pack fills in around Derek, guiding him after Stiles, waiting till Derek follows. 

"I've got a surprise for you," Stiles says, and casts a wink over his shoulder at him as he opens the door and starts in on his shirt buttons.

The shirt gets left on the porch railings, the trousers on the grass at the bottom of the steps. After he steps out into the soft foliage of the yard, he waits until he hears Derek's footfalls on the steps, then he tugs his boxers down over his hips. He turns and tosses them at a wide-eyed Derek as the rest of the pack circles out of the house past him. Some of the humans follow, though they mostly remain on the porch. He doesn't mind.

He grins, stretching languidly, reveling in his nudity. A year as the Alpha's mate had done wonders for his comfort levels in that regard. Plus it didn't hurt that he'd continued to fill out in this last year, between simply still growing and the time spent trying to keep up with the pack. It also didn't hurt the way Derek's eyes still light up, still scour his form whenever he can see it. Like he's doing now. Stiles quirks his mouth slowly as he waggles his eyebrows suggestively at his mate, just to watch his nostrils flare.

The others begin to join him in his state of undress, sharing conspiratorial smiles and grins, peeling away layers of clothing and leaving them where they fall, then bounding around the yard, chasing each other, tagging Stiles with pinches and affectionate rubs as they run by. 

Tipping his head back slightly he rubs his belly, scraping his fingers through the trail of hair leading down to his groin as he watches Derek watch them. Watches him gaze around in perplexed annoyance, then concern, then finally, _finally_ understanding.

Then he just looks at Stiles. Gutted, eyes luminous in the moonlight. Then a smile suffuses his face, the smile that rivals the moon for its brightness and for what it does to Stiles's heart. He starts moving towards his mate, but Stiles just blows a kiss at him and dances back as the others swarm forward, piling in around their Alpha, pulling at his clothes, holding him back.

"Catch me if you can," Stiles calls, and Derek's eyes sharpen on him, smile turning into a feral grin that sends the butterflies dancing faster in Stiles's belly. 

He knows he will. The question is how long a chase Stiles can lead him.

The rest of his life, actually.

 

As he slips into the tree-line, picking up a long-legged run, Stiles grins, then tips his head back on a howl.


End file.
